


The Fertile Crescent

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 27,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Castiel is a Roman centurion stationed in a port town. One night, he sees a young man bathing on the roof beneath him and is transfixed. This AU is (very) loosely based on the David & Bathsheba story.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 133
Kudos: 106
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel sighed, tapping his staff against the kneeplate of his armor.

 _If only these people understood that we are here to bring them civilization,_ he thought to himself. _Plumbing. Healthcare. Education._

_But no - they treat us as invaders._

_Which we are, of course._

_But for their own good._

He had been stationed in this little town along the sea because of its strategic importance as a port. The Roman Empire stretched far and wide now, bringing civilization to the rest of the world.

Castiel was a good soldier. In fact, he was a _great_ soldier. Head of his garrison, respected as a strategist and tactician. But he had been given this appointment because he established a rapport with his soldiers, knew them and their families by name.

 _Too much heart was always Castiel's problem_ , some long-ago soldier had said. For some, it was a negative quality. _Compassion in a soldier?_ they had laughed derisively.

But it was just that compassion, that _heart,_ that made other soldiers happy to follow Castiel's lead. They knew he was intelligent, clever, resourceful, all the qualities necessary in a leader; but it was their knowledge that he would not put them into needless danger that made his men follow wherever he led.

He had their trust. 

Sometimes, the more uncouth men - and there were plenty of them - called it his _sex appeal_ , that men wanted to be him, women wanted him.

 _And some men, too,_ he had thought at the time, with a slight smirk.

But Castiel was also skilled at schooling his features. To most other people, he seemed almost emotionless. An automaton, passionless, calculating, like those wine-pouring robots he had seen on the street corners in Athens, and then Rome.

Because of course, Rome wanted only the best of the best, and the Greek ingenuity - whether it was bird water-whistles or wine-pouring robots or the antikythera mechanism - Rome had to have it all.

 _Rome_ , he thought with longing. _The center of the civilized world. And here I am, bringing civilization to these ungrateful savages._

 _Soon,_ he promised himself. 

In a month, he would return to the center of the Empire, never to go traveling again. 

It was to be his reward for the loyal work he had done for the emperor. 

_Ten long years, and then home._

He hoped they would crown him with laurels. Maybe there would be a parade.

Castiel knew that was probably too much to hope for, but he liked to dream.

 _One month,_ he thought, and climbed the stairs to the rooftop to contemplate the stars.

***

The night air was a cool balm to Castiel's heated skin. The moon was full and the stars were bright in a clear night sky.

He breathed easier, feeling relief wash over him, as he began to unwind and relax. Castiel had spent the day walking the dusty streets, collecting taxes, talking to the people. While he showed kindness and understanding, trying to listen to their concerns, he was aware that not all other soldiers behaved in the same way. 

Castiel was a centurion, meaning that he commanded a Roman legion of 80 men. The legionaries were sent across the Empire, conquering and ruling afterwards. He had a long and storied history in the army, and he would find himself in a glorious, much-looked-for retirement. He had plans for a sprawling villa overlooking the city of Rome, overflowing with hanging plants and statuary. Perhaps a fountain or two, and a bathing pool.

He smiled. _One more month._

Then, he heard the faint sound of splashing. 

At first he'd thought it was because of his musings about the villa that laid so tantalizingly close in his future, but then he realized it was real, and coming from somewhere beneath him.

He went to the edge of the roof and peered over the precipice.

What he saw there made his breath catch in his throat.

He was transfixed.

On the rooftop beneath him, a young man was bathing in a tub set out for that purpose.

Water sluiced down a hard,muscular stomach, the soap pooling in his lap so that Castiel couldn't see detail, only teasing glimpses.

But his face -

Angular, high cheekbones, beautifully full lips, and wide eyes. Arched eyebrows. The man's beauty was such that he could almost be called feminine, if not for the hard lines and broad shoulders of his clearly masculine form. His short-cropped hair was a surprise, as most men in the area wore theirs long, and the clean-shaven face was almost boyish in its youthful beauty. Castiel had grown so accustomed to the local men with their beards and long, flowing locks that he thought for a moment this man was some Roman soldier.

But no - he clearly lived here. He was local.

Castiel was hypnotized by everything this man did, how he moved, the way he caressed his own body as he washed it, the way he leaned back against the back of the tub, head thrown back in the moonlight that illuminated the column of his slender throat.

It never even occurred to him to move away, to look elsewhere. It was like he was hypnotized. He had never seen anything like this man in his entire life, had never known such beauty existed in the world. He was utterly captivated.

The man's right hand trailed downward, along his stomach, teasing -

and Castiel felt the alarming rush of _want_ spike through him as he realized what the man was about to do.

Still, he could not turn away.

The man beneath him closed his hand around his cock, moving slowly, with leisurely pulls, because of course he was in his own bath, relaxing and taking his time.

 _He's so beautiful, so open and relaxed, thinking no one can see him,_ thought Castiel, and his hips pressed involuntarily against the low wall of the roof edge. He bit back a moan as his own hard cock found friction there, and greedily watched as the beauty beneath him spent time taking himself apart before Castiel's eyes.

Blissed out, the man in the bath arched into his fist, his mouth dropping open on a moan that wafted its way up to Castiel's eager ears. Another hand drifted up to his mouth, touching his lips as if he were imagining a kiss laid there.

 _Yes,_ thought Castiel. _I would kiss you. I would -_

He gave up all semblance of self-control. He was alone here.

No one would ever know.

He took his hard cock out, hissing as the cooler air hit it, and started a wicked, dirty grind into his own hand.

The man beneath him sped up, his hand moving faster. A wrinkle appeared on that perfect brow, a searching look, like the man needed something and was reaching for it, something he could not find.

Castiel longed to kiss it away.

"I would give you what you needed," he barely, breathlessly murmured. "Oh, you look so desperate and unsatisfied. I - I -"

His hand tightened on his cock and he bit off a cry.

The man in the tub gasped, his eyes opening. He sat up a little, looking around himself.

Castiel, guilty, slunk back into the shadows.

But not too far.

He was half-crazed, and he intended to see this to the end.

Eventually, the man in the bath seemed to have reassured himself that he was hearing things, and settled back into the water. 

Castiel wondered if that was it, and his foolish outcry had ruined his chances.

But no, the man seemed as desperate as Castiel himself was, because he started again with renewed vigor, his body splayed out like an offering as he fucked up into his fist with abandon.

"Oh - _oh,_ " whispered Castiel. "I would make you feel - _wonderful_ \- I could - "

The man in the bath threw his head back again, his mouth dropped open, clearly chasing after his climax now, helpless and wild, little stuttered, staccato moans floating up to Castiel, where he now crouched, craven and insane, his hand whipping along his hard cock as the intense need shot through him and he saw that the other man was close.

"Yes," hissed Castiel through his teeth. "Together. _Yes._ "

Suddenly, the man in the bath arched his back and cried out, coming in white spurts onto his stomach.

Castiel's orgasm punched through him, making him shout and hit his head against the low wall with the violence of it, covering his hand in sticky white. 

He stayed put, trying to get his heart and his breathing under control, terror that the man had heard him - that _anyone_ might have heard him - thrumming through the aftershocks of his climax. 

When he thought he had himself under control, he took out his water canteen and poured the rest on his hand, and on the mess he had made, washing it all away down the drainage of the building. Then he chanced looking over the low line of the rooftop again, and if he had found himself arrested by the man while he was in the bath, he had found an entirely new reason for his mouth to go dry.

For the man was now standing outside the bath, entirely naked, his back to Castiel. The little oil lamps and candles on the roof illuminated the curves of his back and the round swell of his buttocks, as the moon shone down on all the rest of him. 

He stood there for a moment, like the kind of statue Castiel hoped to install in his future villa, a perfect specimen of masculinity, of everything that Castiel's wildest dreams could not have been made of, because until this night, Castiel had not realized that such beauty walked the earth.

Then, the man reached for his clothing, and donned a long robe.

 _Definitely a local,_ thought Castiel, dizzy and foolish, as embarrassment and humiliation over what he had just done flowed in to fill the space left behind by his maddening lust. Sated for now, but he realized right away that it was never going to be enough.

The man on the roof below disappeared down the stairs, and the spell was broken.

Terrified at the pull of this new addiction winding its way through his body, Castiel turned tail and ran from the scene of the crime.


	2. Chapter 2

The steam bath of the caldarium was a welcome distraction for Castiel, who sorely needed both.

After his misadventure the week before, he couldn't get the idea of bathing out of his head.

Or the man who had captivated him.

He felt like he was going mad. Day and night, it was all he could think about.

The Romans had built _thermae_ in this town, and across the Empire, to encourage people to bathe regularly. Just one of the many gifts the Empire had bestowed upon the people. Not everyone had their own rooftop, and private place to bathe.

_Not so private as all that,_ Castiel thought, as he leaned back into the steam and breathed.

It was no use. He could not get the man's face out of his mind. It was like he was possessed.

"Castiel! Where have you been hiding yourself?"

Castiel looked up and smiled.

"Balthasar."

His old friend came to sit beside him.

"How long is it now?"

"Less than a month."

Balthasar sighed.

"You are fortunate, my friend," he said. "I still have a year left to go."

"Don't worry," Castiel assured him, "you have also distinguished yourself in the army, I am sure you will enjoy a glorious retirement."

"Yes, together again in Rome," sighed Balthasar. "Can you imagine it? I expect to be invited to your villa for dinner and wine."

"And you shall be," said Castiel.

"So, how goes the work?" asked Balthasar.

"You are a centurion yourself, my friend," said Castiel, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes in the warmth. "It is trying. The locals don't want us here, despite our gifts of bathing-houses and other advancements. They prefer their own infernal ways of doing things. And then, some of the soldiers have behaved in ways less befitting a man of Rome."

So saying, Castiel swallowed guiltily, thinking of his own indiscretion the week previous. But Balthasar either didn't notice his expression or he assigned it to Castiel's frustration with his men.

"The people here need a gentle touch," said Balthasar.

Castiel opened his eyes, the thought a little too close to his own private musings.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, you know," said Balthasar, "befriend them. Understand their lives, their interests, their desires."

Castiel blew out a harsh breath.

"We will ask for taxes again soon," he said. "I feel that we may be asking too much from a people in occupied territory."

"Well, someone has to pay for all of this," said Balthasar, waving a hand at the baths in general.

"Do you know where they will be collecting the _tributum capitis_ next?" asked Castiel. 

The _tributum capitis_ was a poll tax collected from every individual in the area.

"Your garrison, I believe," said Balthasar. "Why? Looking to catch the eye of a local girl, are we?"

Castiel smiled, cocksure and confident.

"You know I have no need of assistance in that department," said Castiel, but he privately sent thanks that the young man he had seen would most likely be in the tax-hall and he would have an excuse to greet him. Maybe even touch him, as money changed hands.

"Be careful, Castiel," Balthasar said with a teasing grin, "You know how Caesar frowns on Roman soldiers who go native."

Castiel stared at his friend, who laughed and clapped a hand to his arm.

"Imagine that!" cried Balthasar. "Castiel, the very image of a Roman soldier, pride of the Empire, great stickler for rules, a rebel! That would be something to see. Come now, I weary of the steam. Let's bathe."

He stood and went to the pool at the other corner of the room, immersing himself in the warm water.

Castiel grinned, and followed.

***

Later, feeling refreshed, he walked with Balthasar in the bazaar near where he was stationed. 

Castiel and Balthasar, as centurions, were fortunate enough to have their own private houses that served as barracks. The lower floors served as receiving-halls for certain events, such as entertaining guests or on tax collection days, but otherwise their homes were theirs. It was a luxury that both soldiers had worked for years to achieve, and Castiel was eternally thankful for it. He knew that Balthasar was thankful for it too, given his frequent indiscretions.

If anyone would not look down on him for his sudden all-consuming obsession with a local, it was Balthasar.

"See these spices?" he was saying, pointing at little colorful mountains sitting atop folded-down bags. "Delicious. The food they cook here always makes my stomach grumble. After this, what could Rome offer in the way of gastronomy?"

"Balthasar, you know that they have adopted all good things in Rome," laughed Castiel. "In fact, this _is_ Rome, for all intents and purposes."

"Yes, yes, the glorious Empire," said Balthasar, stroking a hanging silk with his hands. "I'll be happier when we are both back in Rome, safe and sound."

He asked the vendor how much for the silk, and they fell to haggling.

Castiel looked across the bazaar and suddenly went very still.

There, standing in front of a vegetable vendor's stall and arguing with a shockingly tall man with the long hair and beard of the locals, was the man from the roof!

In the late afternoon sunlight, he was golden. The tips of his hair like a halo, the skin Castiel could see was bright with good health.

Then, he looked directly at Castiel, and it was like he had been turned to stone.

The man's eyes were a bright, unearthly green, like the brightest of the grasses in the warmest days of summer.

"Did you know they call this place the Fertile Crescent?" Balthasar said at his elbow. "The birthplace of civilization, first home of man. Some say it was the Garden of Eden."

Castiel didn't answer, locked in place as if an arrow had pinioned him there.

The man with the green eyes had fallen silent, too. 

Staring.

His tall companion said something to him, and he seemed to come out of his reverie just as Balthasar's face filled Castiel's vision.

"Castiel?" said Balthasar. "Are you with me? I've been saying your name for a while now."

"Yes," said Castiel, shaking his head and looking at Balthasar. "I am sorry, my friend. My mind was elsewhere."

"In that villa of yours, no doubt," said Balthasar. "See this silk I bought? I paid far too much for it. But I could not leave without it. Strange what the heart desires!"

"Yes," agreed Castiel, allowing himself to be led further into the bazaar and away from the vision of a man he had seen. "Strange."

"As I was saying," Balthasar chatted on, "if this was the birthplace of mankind, it's a good thing that we have taken it for Rome."

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of the beautiful young man before he was lost in the crowd.

He was disappointed. Both the man and his companion were gone.

"I will see you soon, my Adam," murmured Castiel, to the crowd at large, and to himself.

***

Tax day happened the following week.

All the people of Castiel's neighborhood came to pay their taxes. He'd had a troubling few days, as the tax-day approached, his fantasies of this young man were more and more intense. He had tried to see the young man again, but every night he went onto his roof in vain. 

Castiel was getting desperate.

And that was the thing - he doubted that such a display would have hung in his mind if the young man hadn't looked so needy and desperate, like there was some kind of satisfaction he searched for and could not find, a whimpering plea for something more, something that perhaps only Castiel could give him.

Castiel longed to be the one to do just that.

He had reason to believe it; Castiel's conquests were not as numbered and varied as Balthasar's, but he was certain that he could provide what the young man seemed to be seeking. Whatever it was, he hoped to fulfill that need, and to sate him, leave him exhausted and satisfied, sleeping as Castiel lounged beside his beautiful form in triumph.

There was nothing that occupied Castiel's thoughts more than this young man, and the ways he could make him cry out his name.

Tax collection took most of the day, and he dutifully wrote everyone's name down in the ledger. The last few stragglers came in to drop off the money, shepherds late from the fields.

Then the last one left.

"Is that all?" asked Castiel. Some of his men at the door nodded. "There are none waiting in the street?"

One of the men walked outside and returned with a shake of his head.

Castiel ground his teeth.

"I know for a fact that I have not seen everyone in this neighborhood," he said, scowling.

"Are you certain?" asked the soldier who had gone outside. 

"Yes, I have lived among these people for some time," said Castiel. "I know there are some missing."

He did not elaborate on the topic of how he knew that there were people who had not yet paid their taxes in the neighborhood, but having his hopes of seeing the young man again thwarted made him do something foolish, something that would test the bonds of trust he had built up with these people over the last few years of living among them.

"Go out through the neighborhood and find those who have not paid their taxes to Caesar," commanded Castiel, "and bring them to me."

The soldier nodded.

"Yes, commander," he said, and motioned for a contingent of soldiers to follow.

***

After they had left, Castiel sighed and stared down at the money on the table along with the lists of names there.

_This is dangerous, Castiel. You're playing with fire._

But he could not bring himself to care.


	3. Chapter 3

"Found them, commander."

Castiel stood, trying not to let his eagerness show. 

Two men were silhouetted in the doorway, until the soldiers shoved them hard. The chains holding them clanked and they came to a halt just in front of Castiel.

The shorter one stumbled, but caught himself. He stared up at Castiel in defiance.

_It was the young man from the rooftop!_

The other man was much taller, almost unbelievably so; Castiel had to crane his neck to look up at him. He recognized the man from the bazaar; the two had been arguing together there.

But Castiel only had eyes for the other man, whose soft cries he could still hear in his head every night.

_Careful. You have less than a month to go. Don't lose it all over one man._

Castiel nodded to the soldier who had brought them in.

"Go ahead, Thomas," he said.

Thomas bowed.

"Samuel and Dean," he explained. "Brothers. They live together in the house next door. Inseparable, so I am told, after the deaths of their parents."

"Do you wish to tell me why you haven't paid your taxes today?" asked Castiel, pacing in front of them slowly.

The taller man - Samuel - lowered his head and muttered something to his brother, Dean. Dean snarled something in return and then looked up at Castiel with hatred in those intense green eyes.

Up close, they were more beautiful than Castiel could have dreamed. Anger seemed to make them glow, rendering the color even more intense.

"Please," he said. "Share your words with everyone, _Dean._ "

If Castiel hadn't been staring at the man so intently, he might have missed the involuntary shiver that went through the man's frame.

_Aha,_ thought Castiel.

"We owe nothing to Caesar," snarled Dean. "He is not our king!"

"Oh?" asked Castiel. "And who is? Who has provided you with all these beautiful things? The bath houses?"

" _Samuel_ loves your bath houses," Dean said. " _Samuel_ wanted to pay his taxes, but I told him that it was a betrayal of our people."

"And does _Samuel_ do everything his brother tells him to do?" asked Castiel. He looked into the face of the other young man. Handsome, too, but in a much different fashion than his brother. "Tell me, Samuel. Are you a scholar? Would you like to see Rome?"

The young man's eyes lit up. _There._ Castiel felt that victory was within his grasp.

"Yes," he said, strangely soft-spoken for such a large man. "I enjoy going to the bath houses, and learning from the teachers there, talking to people who have traveled the world."

"And this is why you pay your taxes," said Castiel. "So that we can have such wonderful things, and that education can be shared throughout the provinces. Caesar is not over-cruel, and neither are his men."

"You are occupying enemy territory," said Dean, resolute. "You won't be getting taxes from me _or_ my brother. I don't care if you throw me in jail or fine me."

"Hmm," said Castiel.

He looked back and forth between the brothers.

_Inseparable,_ Thomas had said.

Well then.

"Thomas, take Samuel to the prison," said Castiel.

Samuel's head snapped up and his mouth dropped open.

"If your brother here is so certain that the payment of a reasonable tax is worth your life and your freedom, so be it," said Castiel. "My apologies to you, Samuel, you seem a good man. And of course you don't deserve this at all, but your brother is doing this to you and he must see sense."

"What?" Dean demanded. "No! Take me instead!"

Castiel smirked, but shook his head.

"You are brave, and you are foolhardy," said Castiel. "But a lesson must be taught here, and you have made it abundantly clear that it will not be learned if I put _you_ into prison."

Castiel nodded to Thomas and the other soldiers.

"Take him away," said Castiel. "Leave us."

The men left, the tall form of Samuel between them, and the door swung to as they left Castiel alone with Dean.

***

The young man stared up at him, his hatred and anger doubled, if anything.

They were alone.

Castiel had to bite the insides of his cheeks to get himself under control. His heart was racing and he merely wanted to stand there, absorbing the beauty in front of him, cataloguing every freckle that stood out on Dean's skin.

_Get ahold of yourself,_ Castiel warned, as he approached the young man. _You don't want to make an enemy here. He must come to you of his own volition. An insurrection during your last month here because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself will only prolong the time you have to spend on campaign._

"Kneel," commanded Castiel. Dean glared at him, but did as he was told. Now that Samuel was gone, Castiel felt certain that the young man would be far more agreeable company. But he did not intend to push it too far.

Still, he couldn't help reaching out and touching the soft bottom lip that trembled before him. He had never used his power in such a way, and it was making him dizzy. Dean still held his gaze in defiance, but Castiel also saw his eyelids begin to drift shut as he ran his thumb over Dean's sweet bottom lip.

Castiel was instantly hard, but thanked whoever was listening that the heaviness of his armor covered it; his legs were bare, apart from the knee guards, and he would only have to guide the young man's hand beneath the skirt of his armor -

But he shook his head, and focused.

He dropped his hand and broke the gaze between them, turning away to stand behind the table.

"Shall I write your names down here as having paid?" asked Castiel.

Stubborn and wordless, Dean shook his head.

Castiel sighed.

"We do not ask for much," he said. "But the law must be followed."

The door opened then, the men having returned from the prison.

"Samuel is in his cell," said Thomas.

"Thank you, Thomas."

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Dean.

Castiel looked up from the table as if he had forgotten Dean was there.

"You? You may go free," said Castiel. "If he approaches the prison, kill him."

Thomas nodded, unlocking the chains. Dean rubbed his wrists.

"Whenever you feel like freeing your brother," said Castiel mildly, "and paying your taxes, you know where to find me."

After a moment, Castiel looked up.

"Are you still here?" he snapped. "Thomas, put him outside."

Thomas nodded, and did so. He returned a few moments later.

"Anything else, commander?" 

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. He felt like his skin was on fire.

"No, that will be all," he said. "Go out and enjoy the evening with the other men. I will finish up here."

Thomas smiled.

"Thank you!" he said, and they filed out of his house, closing the door behind them.

Castiel groaned, collapsing into the chair behind the table, and dropped his head into his hands.

A few moments later, he began to count the money and sort it.

***

After everything had been put away and accounted for, Castiel retired to his bed.

He was haunted by the things he _could_ have done, the ways it _could_ have gone.

_Dean, on his knees, as he parted those soft lips and took Castiel's achingly hard cock down to the root, staring up at him, those green eyes worshipful and trusting -_

_Castiel fucking into him mindlessly, satisfying him, as nonsense and curse words fell from Dean's mouth like blessings -_

_Dean, coming to him because **he** wanted Castiel as much as Castiel wanted him, murmuring "I knew you were there, and that you were watching..."_

Castiel came all over his own fist with a choking cry.

Panting as he came down, wiping his hand on a cloth and dropping it beside his bed, listening to his slowing heartbeat, Castiel stared at the ceiling.

_Three more weeks._

_That's all._

_That's as long as you need to hold out, not doing something suicidally stupid that will put an ignoble end to a glorious career._

Castiel had thought, after seeing him in the flesh, after giving into his desires in this way, he would quell his need for this young man, to find himself between his legs, to rid his mind of this uniquely addictive poison Castiel was chasing like a drunkard after the sweetest wine.

It should have been over. He should have been satisfied.

But those bright, defiant green eyes still burned through his soul like a star.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut.

He was certain he was going insane.


	4. Chapter 4

"Thomas."

The soldier walked into Castiel's house as he was just finishing his breakfast repast.

Thomas bowed.

"What have you learned?"

"The brothers lost their parents at a fairly young age. Dean, the older brother, is something like a father to Samuel."

"Interests?"

"Samuel is a scholar," said Thomas. "He wishes to see the world, as you noted; perhaps visit the NeoPlatonic Academy in Athens, and the library at Alexandria - or what remains of it."

"And Dean?" inquired Castiel, trying to keep the keen interest out of his voice.

"That's the strange thing. He doesn't seem to _have_ any interests."

"Impossible. All men have interests. All men have a fulcrum upon which, as Archimedes said, another man could move the world."

Thomas shrugged.

"As far as we have been able to ascertain," he said, "Dean cares for nothing save Samuel."

"And do they work?"

"Yes, sir. Although they are quite poor. Dean is a day-laborer. He searches for work from day to day. In this way he supports Samuel's passion for study. These brothers live hand-to-mouth, commander. They may not be paying their tax simply because they cannot afford to."

_Self-sacrifice, humility, honor._

Despite himself, Castiel fell just a little bit more.

"He would make a good soldier," he mused aloud.

"He certainly has the qualities," Thomas agreed.

Castiel thought of the man on the rooftop, and how he seemed to be searching, reaching for something more.

_It's not that he doesn't have interests. He denies himself for the sake of his brother._

_Denies himself so much,_ thought Castiel, Dean's strangely desperate expression returning to his mind again.

He shook his head to clear it of distraction.

"Thomas."

"Yes, commander?"

"With whom do you place the most trust among your men?"

"Myself, sir. If there is a commission you want someone to perform."

"I do," said Castiel, setting down his breakfast cup. "But I need you here."

"Then I will speak for Lucien."

"Lucien. He is from Rome too, is he not?"

"Yes, sir."

"A wife and three children? Retiring from the army this year as well?"

"Yes, sir."

Castiel ruminated on these facts.

"Then he will do."

"What is the commission?"

"It is to be kept secret. Only you and Lucien will know."

"Very well."

"The man, Samuel. You placed him in the prison last night?"

"Yes, sir."

"That should be quite enough. I don't want him to sicken and die. Besides, he is not the culprit here."

"Sir?"

"Do you think it would be possible to remove him from the prison, but still keep him under lock and key?" asked Castiel. "Show him our private libraries, feed him the best gourmet food from all around the Empire? He seemed to be a man interested in education, in travel. We treat him with kindness, and he may repay us in ways we could not yet imagine."

"I think it will be possible," said Thomas. "Yet we must never underestimate anyone. I've seen women in the Celtic lands kill Roman soldiers without a thought."

"Yes, very good, Thomas," agreed Castiel. "You're right, of course. Ensure that he is well-guarded, and that he is always watched. Dean cannot know that he has been freed." 

"It is as you have always said," Thomas replied. "Never underestimate an enemy."

Castiel looked out the window, where the sun was rising.

"Then we shall have to make a friend of Samuel," he said, and smiled.

***

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was streaming into the house and Castiel had just returned from his bath, Thomas entered the room.

"A visitor for you, sir?"

"Name?"

"Dean."

Castiel smiled to himself.

_The bait has been set. Let us see how well the trap works._

The young man walked into the room, bathed in the light of the sun.

Castiel's heart was in his throat, for never in his life had he ever seen anything so holy.

He cleared his throat, hoping that his thoughts were not written across his face.

"Dean," he said warmly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

The young man's eyes were hard.

"Not a visit for pleasure," he snapped. "Let my brother go."

"Pay your taxes."

"No."

Castiel sighed, approaching Dean. Up close, the man's face was heavenly, alight with righteous rage.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse," said Castiel. "Is it that you cannot afford to pay?"

This seemed to light a fire in Dean's eyes, but his lips tightened and he shook his head.

"So you are _choosing_ not to, because of some ill-advised sense of rebellion?" Castiel asked.

Dean didn't respond.

_Either he is too poor and is too proud to admit it, or there is truth in what he says about rebellion._

Castiel filed this information away for later use.

"I - " Dean swallowed. He looked up at Castiel from beneath his lashes. "There are other ways I could pay my debt."

Castiel snorted.

"I collect taxes," he said. "I don't pollute myself with whores. Be better than that."

Dean's jaw dropped in shock.

_Oh. So he's done this kind of thing before._

_And is apparently not accustomed to being turned down._

_Hm._

"It must be quite the expense, taking care of a scholarly brother," mused Castiel, as he walked away from Dean despite wanting nothing more than to get closer. "More than a day-laborer could afford. So you offer yourself up to men who are willing to pay?"

"And some women."

"Few women pay," spat Castiel. "Answer the question."

Dean's cheeks were bright red.

"Do you not have a local folk hero who said, _render to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's?_ " asked Castiel. 

"I am no Christian," said Dean angrily.

Castiel raised a brow. He sensed something more in Dean's words.

"But your brother is?" he took a wild guess.

Now Dean's mouth snapped shut. He looked at the ground, furious.

"Worry not," Castiel assured him. "I am, too."

Dean looked up in surprise.

"Yes, _Castiel_ is the name of an angel," he said. "Not exactly Roman. My mother is a Christian, you see."

"Is that - is that _safe_?" ventured Dean. "For a centurion? For you to tell me?"

Castiel approached Dean again, closer this time.

He could feel the young man's breath on his bare skin.

"Is it safe for you to be doing such things with men, and confessing them? Now we have shared our dangerous secrets," said Castiel. "If you wish to free your brother, you must pay your taxes, Dean. If you don't, then I am in trouble."

"I don't care if you're in trouble."

"Indeed," said Castiel. "But you care for your brother's welfare, enough that you have denied yourself a life so he may have one."

He gazed into Dean's beautiful green eyes, and thought he saw something soften in his expression.

"You deserve more than that. You deserve a life. You are a good man, Dean."

Dean just stared at him, mouth slightly open. Castiel wished he could capture those lips with his own.

_Patience,_ he told himself. _Wait for him to come to you._

"How do you know so much about me?"

"I see everything."

Dean sighed.

"If that is all," said Castiel, "please show yourself out."

"I - "

"There is much work I need to do today, Dean."

Dean turned away and Thomas allowed him to leave.

Castiel busied himself with other things, but kept the young man in his peripheral vision.

At the last possible moment, he saw Dean look over his shoulder, directly at Castiel.

His back to the door, Castiel smiled.

***

That night, Castiel had taken himself in hand again, imagining all the things that might have happened if he had taken Dean up on his offer. The young man had provided so much fodder for fantasy that he was no longer certain if he was up to his daily tasks.

_Soldiers are depending on you, Castiel. This is sordid and strange._

as he pictured the young man on his hands and knees, calling him _sir_ and writhing, begging -

Castiel bit down on his own hand to prevent himself from screaming his orgasm to the ceiling. 

Breath coming in huge, shaky gasps, Castiel cleaned himself off and then crawled into bed, face red with shame. He felt completely powerless against his desire, giving into it over and over, as if it were some illicit substance and he could not get enough. 

He wanted to possess the young man more than anything. It consumed his days and especially his nights.

He was bound to make a mistake sooner or later.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel returned to the house after putting the soldiers through their drills. 

The curious and bored often showed up to watch the precision of a Roman battalion, and Castiel's men were particularly talented. They had fought together for years and trusted each other implicitly, so their coordination was no surprise.

Castiel's eyes had landed on Dean in the crowd, and snagged.

The young man was giving him such an insouciant grin that he was momentarily distracted. 

Then it became an opportunity to show off.

Castiel called out orders and was pleased to see that his soldiers moved together like water, with the precision of dancers. 

Years of experience, hard-won days on the battlefield, and now they had come to an uneasy sort of peace.

_Maybe. If Dean is telling the truth about rebellion..._

Castiel didn't want to think about what it meant if he had glimpsed something much larger at the edges of Dean's defiant nature.

_So close to the finish line. Like those races they run naked in Olympia, all greased up._

Still, Castiel was proud of his work and his soldiers. 

He wanted Dean to be impressed.

_After all, what can it hurt?_

_Plenty,_ he answered himself, but lost the thread of thoughts as the appreciative citizenry applauded, and his soldiers looked back at them, all smiles.

_An uneasy peace._

_Don't trust it, Castiel._

He was well aware of his own intelligence and cunning, his tactical nature and his history of subterfuge.

The things Dean had said - there was a thread pulled loose now, and hanging.

He'd never been one to leave well enough alone, especially when he caught the gleaming edges of something.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd been born with some other kind of mind.

***

Thomas was all smiles when they returned to the house.

"The women were cheering for us, did you see?" he burbled. "I might ask one of them if they would like to share dinner in my chambers."

Castiel nodded, his mind otherwise occupied.

"Castiel, I'm beginning to believe the things they say about you," he said. "Your expression hasn't moved, you look like one of the statues Apollonius has in his garden. Are you a man of stone?"

They walked inside the house, and Castiel halted.

"Leave us," he directed the other soldiers.

They filed out and left Castiel alone with Thomas.

"Sir?" hazarded Thomas. "I didn't mean anything by it, simply a joke - "

"Don't worry yourself," said Castiel, closing the door and returning to Thomas's side. "I wanted a private word."

"Anything, commander."

"How has Samuel fared?" asked Castiel. Thomas grinned.

"Oh, he is having the time of his life!" he assured him. "Discussions with some of our most learned men, reading all the books he can get his hands on, tasting exotic delights. We brought in some of the local dancers, too, but he didn't seem all that intrigued by them."

"All men are different," said Castiel. "Speaking of which, his brother, Dean - "

"I saw him in the crowd today," said Thomas earnestly. "Commander, I do not like to speak out of turn - "

"Go ahead."

"But it seems that you are taking an untoward interest in this young man and his brother," said Thomas. "What matters it if they do not pay their taxes? This kind of thing might lead to dissatisfaction among the masses, and as he pointed out, we are an occupying army. We aren't exactly welcome here."

"That is just what I had wanted to discuss with you," said Castiel, desperately covering his real reason for interest in Dean with the other thoughts he'd had. "Some of the things he said have given me cause for grave concern. You are familiar with my insight?"

"There is a reason it is renowned among your men," agreed Thomas. "And I've served by your side these many years, so I have had ample opportunity to witness it."

Castiel sighed and passed a hand across his face.

"I fear that this young man, Dean, has let slip that there is an insurrection planned," said Castiel.

Thomas stared at him. A light dawned in his eyes.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "So _that_ is the reason you've taken such an interest! Not about taxes at all?"

"Yes," Castiel lied. "That's exactly why."

Thomas's expression was serious. He was clearly relishing this opportunity to watch the great Castiel at work. His brilliance had a wide reputation, because war was not only about battle, but tactics and planning.

 _The best fight is one that never happens,_ Castiel had always told his men. They had managed to keep the peace for a long time via deescalation. 

But now Castiel was playing a two-sided game. One - the soldiers could not know the reason for his keen interest. Two - Dean and his brother might be his enemies in ways he could not have predicted.

"Have you noted anything among the people at all?" inquired Castiel. "Unrest. Anything?"

"Frankly, no, I haven't," said Thomas. "But the problem with peace is that it lulls us into a sense of complacency. Nobody Roman would know, as such an insurrection must be got up in secret."

Castiel went to sit down in a chair and motioned for Thomas to do likewise. The soldier followed suit.

"So the only way I will find the truth - "

"Is to ask the locals, yes."

Castiel sighed.

"Then I must ingratiate myself with this young man," he said, as if to himself, but as a show for Thomas's benefit. "He is the only clue I have. But how? I cannot keep up this playacting about the taxes forever, not if I don't want to give the people even further reason for rebellion. Especially if he or Samuel are the leaders."

"Befriend him," said Thomas, eager to help, flattered that Castiel had chosen him as a confidante. "Bring him into your confidence. Seduce him, if you must."

Castiel's blood froze at the suggestion, but he laughed.

"You know these locals," he said. "They are not like the men of Athens or Sparta or Rome. Their folk heroes speak against such things, you know."

"Words," said Thomas dismissively. "They do not contradict human nature. Besides - "

Here, he hesitated.

"What is it? Out with it?"

"Dean has - there is other, work, he has done, besides day-laboring," said Thomas in a stutter.

Castiel gave him an amused look.

"Is that so."

Thomas swallowed and looked at the floor.

"I do not approve of my men visiting brothels, Thomas."

"I know, sir!" he said in a rush. "I just thought it pertinent information."

"It is," said Castiel.

He stood and walked over to the table, scrawling out a message. He took some money from his belt and placed it in the pile.

"Sir?"

Castiel handed Thomas the message.

"In the first light of dawn, I want you to deliver this message to Dean."

It read _Samuel and Dean - paid in full._

"Do not tell him who paid it," finished Castiel.

Thomas had the look of someone who would like to be let in on the secret, but prefers to watch it play out instead. He grinned.

"You are one of our cleverest men," he said. "We shall miss you, when you retire."

"Thank you, Thomas," said Castiel. "You are dismissed. The light is fading, and I have to get some rest. You should, too; your commission means waking at an early hour. For this boon, I will grant you tomorrow evening off, along with your men. Then you can find all the female entertainment you wish."

"Thank you, sir," said Thomas, bowing. "You are truly great."

Castiel waved him off, and the door swung to again.

He locked it. He had other reasons to rid himself of Thomas and his men, after all.

Tonight was the night he had first seen the young man bathing, and he hoped for a repeat performance.

Trying not to seem too eager, although there were none to see him, Castiel still took the steps to the roof two at a time.

***

Castiel stood in the shadows as far back as possible.

He was rewarded with the sight of Dean emerging onto the rooftop with pails of water, with which he filled the bath.

 _Strange,_ thought Castiel. _So much work, when he could just go to the thermae -_

and then it struck him.

_But the thermae costs money. And Dean seems to have little to spare._

If Castiel had hoped that Dean would immediately disrobe and bathe, he was sorely disappointed.

What Dean was actually doing took a moment to slot into place in his mind.

Music from one of the taverns down the street was quite loud on these evenings, as most establishments did not have the money to pay for musicians nightly. This particular tavern played music on this night every week, part of the noise of the city.

But, Castiel quickly realized, for Dean it held another purpose.

The young man stretched out first, having removed his long robe and now standing in loose trousers and bare feet. The roof was hidden from the view of the street, so Castiel had a show all his own.

Dean began to sway to the music, undulating his body in ways that Castiel was almost certain were inhuman. 

_He's a **dancer**. So that's what Thomas was so nervous about telling me._

_And that's why his brother seemed so nonplussed by the dancers that were brought to him._

_Dancing must lose its magic when you live with a dancer._

Castiel watched, enthralled, as Dean went into a full backbend and then dropped to the floor. The martial precision, the way he moved with controlled rolls of hips, stomach, and shoulders to the music, how he moved muscles that Castiel did not even know men had - 

He must have come to the roof after this performance last time, as it seemed like a ritual. First the dance, then the bath, then bed.

 _I don't pollute myself with whores,_ Castiel recalled saying, his face red.

He hadn't meant it to sting.

But it probably had.

_Dean would do **anything** to help his brother, it seems._

The music down the street fell quiet, and Dean finished his practice. Stretching again, he moved toward the bath.

Castiel wished he had seen the entire performance last time. 

But then again, that might have killed him.

If Dean had been intriguing, beguiling, beautiful to him before, now Castiel was humbled by him. More than just an erotic fantasy, somehow his heart had gotten wrapped up in it too.

But the show was not over, and Castiel could not help but watch. He was already so hard he could barely think, but he'd been so captivated by the dancing he hadn't moved to touch himself yet.

Dean bathed, and Castiel followed his hands. Greedy, hungry, _crazy_ with want, Castiel drank his fill.

Then, the moment he had been waiting for -

Dean's hand wrapped around his cock, and started pulling at it.

The music had started up again down the street, and Castiel strained to hear those blessed little sounds Dean was making.

That air of desperation was back, seeking, seeking.

"Please," Dean said, startling Castiel. "Please. Oh - "

This time, Castiel squeezed his own cock and couldn't help the noise he made. He hoped it was covered by the music, but he was too far gone to really care.

"I wish you'd let me," whispered Castiel, his eyes fixed on Dean's hand moving on his cock. "I would give you what you need. I wish - "

His breath scattered in little panting huffs, working himself over, when he heard something squeezed into the silence between the musical notes down the street:

" _Cas -_ "

Castiel's hand froze on his cock. He didn't dare move. 

Had he heard what he thought he'd heard?

Was it just his fevered imagination?

Had Dean _noticed him on the roof?_ He was facing upward, after all -

But no, Dean hadn't stopped, and his eyes were closed, chasing bliss.

Realizing that his name had fallen from Dean's lips kicked his libido into overdrive, and Castiel was fucking into his fist with abandon.

Dean gasped, " _Castiel!_ " and painted his belly white.

Castiel saw this, and came suddenly, with a strangled shout.

It sounded a lot like _Dean._

Castiel shrank back into the shadows, terrified, but the music had been loud -

_still, you heard **your** name, so maybe -_

but when he dared look over the roof edge again, Dean was just relaxing, a leg hooked over the side of the tub, eyes closed with a smile on his face.

Breathless, Castiel cleaned himself up as best he could. He looked over the rooftop again.

Dean seemed to have finished bathing now, and Castiel stared at the gorgeous muscles of his back, his legs, his toned body as he stepped into the full light of the moon. He dropped the robe over his head and picked up the oil lamp.

Just before he walked inside the house, he turned around.

He looked up.

Directly at Castiel.

Or maybe it just seemed that way.

Because Dean turned around again, and went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever seen men bellydance? It's pretty damned amazing.


	6. Chapter 6

Balthasar was at the _thermae_ again when Castiel returned the following day.

"Perfume? Who's the lucky woman?" he teased as he saw Castiel washing with scented soaps and rosewater.

"Go away, Balthasar," grumped Castiel.

"Oh," said Balthasar. "Oh, I see. Our automaton is made of flesh and blood after all. Frustrated? This is a bath of hope, not expectation?"

Castiel sighed. 

Balthasar narrowed his eyes.

"Not the tax dodger?" he asked.

Castiel closed his eyes, and for Balthasar, that was answer enough.

"Castiel," he scolded gently. "What have we always said about getting involved with the locals?"

"I've never been involved with anyone in my life."

"The harder they fall, my friend. The harder they fall."

Castiel had deliberately chosen not to be found at home that morning, where he was certain Dean would have come banging on his door demanding to know who had paid the tax for him and his brother. He planned to spend the day in the _thermae,_ which he had concluded Dean could not afford, just to get him good and riled up, and to give him time to think.

_To give Dean time to think, or yourself?_ was a question he didn't really want to examine too closely.

"Look," said Balthasar. "You're only here, what, a little over a week? And then back to Rome. You're playing a dangerous game, Castiel."

"I had thought perhaps -"

"Perhaps what?" asked Balthasar, swinging his legs over the side of the warm pool and dangling his feet in the water. "You know the rules, locals are one-and-done."

"Perhaps he might see fit to join me," said Castiel in a rush.

Balthasar looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"This young upstart rebel? Who, may I add, is rumored to be the leader of or involved with an insurrection against Caesar?"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Castiel.

"My apologies," said Balthasar more quietly. "But you must know this is crazy. You're almost at the finish line of a glorious career and a fantastic reputation. You could be a politician in Rome, leave this desert behind. _Fertile Crescent_ , I've never heard a more inaccurate name in my life."

Balthasar sighed and his eyes went soft.

"We've been close friends for many years," he said. "I only tell you these things because I care for you, and because I want you alive when I return to Rome myself. Find a Roman man or woman of your station, Castiel. A week is not such a long time, after all."

This kind advice had the opposite effect on Castiel than Balthasar had hoped. His eyes widened.

"You're right," he said. "There's not much time left."

"Oh, Castiel," said Balthasar sadly.

"I don't want a Roman man or woman," he insisted. "I want this one."

"You may have to get used to disappointment," said Balthasar. "What is it about this young man that has captivated you so? Truly, I think you must be going mad."

"He is loyal. He sacrifices everything for his brother. He is a good man."

"And you know all of this about him after speaking to him twice?"

"I know because of his brother, and because of his actions thus far."

Then Castiel was shaken with a realization. He grabbed Balthasar by the calf.

"Well, hello," said Balthasar, smiling. "Now that I think about it, _I_ am a Roman man."

"No, not that," said Castiel, impatient. "You spend time in brothels, do you not? Dance halls?"

"Now you keep _your_ voice down," hissed Balthasar. "And yes. What of it?"

"Do you know where they host male dancers?" asked Castiel. "Locally?"

Balthasar just gazed at Castiel.

"He's a dancer," he said in a flat voice. "So not only is he a rebel, he's also a whore."

"Balthasar, _please._ "

"All right," he said. "But only in the name of our long friendship, and if he murders you in your sleep, do _not_ blame me."

"I won't," Castiel promised.

"The Date Palm," said Balthasar. "Easy to find, low door with a date palm right in front of it. It's the only place locally that hosts male dancers, given their reticence to admit that men have congress with men."

"How did you know -"

"No questions."

"Understood. Thank you, Balthasar. Thank you."

Castiel hoisted himself out of the water and walked barefoot past his friend, who shook his head and said:

"Centurions. Just when it's time to retire, they look for one last war."

Castiel gave him a strange look.

"Don't worry," said Balthasar, waving him away. "I know it, because I am one, too. Be careful, Castiel. These people are clever. Deep waters."

"Thank you for your concern," said Castiel, and moved on to the next bathing pool.

***

Outside, the sun had finally set when Castiel went searching for the Date Palm. He had chosen to dress as a local, and so was covered from head to toe. He did not want anyone recognizing him, especially Dean.

He was led to a large circular room with pillows and cushions on the floor. He lay down on his side like the other patrons and was brought piles of dates with honey. No one paid him any attention, and the show began with the female dancers.

A place like this was illicit, due to the local beliefs regarding what Balthasar called _male congress_. Local customs were not the same as in Athens or Rome. Castiel settled back and watched, certain he would be waiting most of the evening, and there was no guarantee that this was where Dean danced. 

_Perhaps he doesn't even work as a dancer. Perhaps it is something he just does on his own._

So Castiel expected disappointment.

Then the drums started up, dark and exotic.

Like a slow, tribal warning.

The low light and shadows played across the body of the man who stepped out into the center of the room. 

Castiel couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped his lips.

He'd never been _this close_ , close enough to touch him, and he stared up at the man who began to move in slow, sensual rhythms like he had found a new god to worship. 

Dean's muscles fluttered in his stomach, little playful kicks of the hips forming a counterpoint to the dark, heavily sexual look in his eyes. 

He went into the same backbend that Castiel had seen him do on the rooftop, only this time, he stayed there, suspended in the air like a dream. The utter control, the sinuous sensuality, the deep sense that Castiel was witness to something more than sex, the soul bared in the dance.

He realized, then, that he had never truly seen the man naked until this moment, even though he was partly dressed.

Then, Dean dropped to the floor, where his back arched beautifully and his arms described a gentle pattern in the air.

All Castiel could think about was this man, arching like this beneath him, and his heart beat heavy with the steady drumbeat. 

He had hoped to find Dean, to confront him, to finally speak with him in private. He'd had plans. Subterfuge. Tactics. All those things Castiel had built his career upon.

He had not expected to have everything he was bow low before the innate beauty of this man, his fluid sexuality, those dark-kohled eyes he knew were a bright palm-frond green.

Dean was on his side now, moving his body in a slow, controlled roll like a snake, up on one elbow, following the motion of his other arm, flowing up through his fingertips like smoke undulates toward the ceiling.

Then, he looked into the audience, and he met Castiel's eyes.

They fastened there, and Dean continued to dance, his eyes never leaving Castiel's.

He didn't recognize him, of course; he _couldn't_ , not with the way Castiel had disguised himself.

But the world melted away, in his eyes.

Like he was only performing for Castiel.

Which was ridiculous, because he had no idea that a random member of his audience would be the Roman centurion he had infuriated.

But Castiel knew no other form of worship, knew no other thing so worthy as the man who stood before him, his body sinful and wicked with a promise hanging hard behind those sultry looks.

_He's a performer. I am a part of the audience. This is how he makes his money, Castiel._

_How all whores make their money, by making you fall in love just a little bit, every time._

Castiel heard the voice of reason in his head, and he ignored it.

Applause burst out around him and he realized Dean had found the final pose of his dance, his chest rising and falling with his breaths, and all the places Castiel wanted to map there with his tongue.

Castiel came to himself a moment later, realizing his mouth had been hanging open, his lips drying out from his harsh breathing as he stared. He began to clap after a moment's thought, and the downright triumphant little smirk on Dean's face when he saw the effect he'd had made Castiel want to kiss it just to shut him up.

Then Dean bowed, and retreated into the darkness of the hallway, disappearing as a woman took his place. 

_Here's your chance._

Castiel paid his tab and made his way out into the street, searching for the alleyway behind the tavern where he was certain the dancers left through the back door.

He didn't have to wait long.

A huddled figure made his way out into the darkness, where Castiel was waiting.

He swung the man around and up against a wall, pulling down the scarf over his mouth.

_Dean,_ he thought, his eyes flicking to those soft lips.

"I'll give you anything you want," said Dean quietly. "Just let me go."

"Anything?" growled Castiel. "That's a hell of a promise, Dean."

"Do I know you?" he demanded.

Castiel dropped the scarf around his own face. Dean blanched.

"Castiel," he said. "I was looking for you."

"You found me. Apparently you're not just a day-laborer, but a _night laborer_ too."

Dean turned his face away, looking down at the ground.

Castiel felt his heart beating light and fast in his chest, like a frightened bird was trapped there.

"I got bills to pay," he muttered. "As you know."

Castiel pushed him against the wall harder.

"You shouldn't - " he began. "You're - you're worth more than this, Dean."

Now Dean looked at him, really _looked_ at him.

"Why do you care?" he spat. "You got your money. Give me my brother back."

"I paid," Castiel confessed. "I paid for you, Dean. Please. You don't need to - to do this. Anymore."

Dean's brows drew together in confusion.

"I don't get it," he said. "What gives? What's the trick here?"

Castiel deflated, letting Dean go.

"No trick," he said. "I just - wanted you to have a chance."

Dean stared at Castiel.

Then he put a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas," he said, and Castiel lifted his head at the shortened version of his name. "Are you alone tonight? No soldiers."

Castiel nodded, gazing at Dean like a man hypnotized by a cobra.

"Then lead me to your bed," he said.

Castiel's jaw dropped.

"I don't want -" he began. "I don't want payment for what I did for you, Dean."

Dean shook his head.

"It's not payment," he said softly. "Trust me."

Castiel was suspended between hesitation and a yawing great chasm of desire he longed to fling himself into forever.

Then Dean lifted his hand and laid a soft kiss along his knuckles, and Castiel welcomed the descent with wild abandon.

Wordless, he turned toward his house, and the bed that was waiting.

Dean followed in his wake. 


	7. Chapter 7

The door fell shut behind them.

Castiel's eyes were on Dean. He could not look away, trying to memorize every part of him, the way the muscles moved beneath his skin.

"Where's your bed, Cas?"

"Here."

Castiel led him up the stairs to the bedroom, and he watched hungrily as Dean stretched out on it, giving him the lazy, confident smile of someone who _knows_ how good they look.

"Go ahead. You can touch."

Dean seemed to expect something wilder, more violent, than what Castiel was doing now.

He laid hands on Dean, smoothing them up his ribcage, dropping sweet kisses here and there, staring down at the other man like he wanted this night imprinted on the backs of his eyelids for the rest of his life.

He removed Dean's trousers, laying him bare. Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

He had seen him naked before, of course, but never this close up.

Castiel touched him with reverence, his knuckles brushing up against Dean's hard cock, making him moan suddenly.

"You're - different, for a soldier," said Dean, panting a little.

"What do you mean?" asked Castiel, whose eyes had never left Dean's.

"They're usually - _ah!_ \- a little more rough," he said. "Impatient. Want to finish - "

"I will _never_ be finished with you," murmured Castiel, and watched the blush spread from Dean's cheeks, to his chest. He kissed a trail, grazing his lips against Dean's nipple and making him hiss a breath. "You're beautiful, Dean. So beautiful."

"Uh. Thanks?" said Dean in a quavering voice.

"Thank you for this gift," said Castiel.

Dean did not seem to know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

"You smell good," he finally said.

"From the _thermae,_ " Castiel explained. "Here, come with me."

He lifted Dean from the bed and set him on his feet again. 

Castiel went to get his expensive rosewater and soap for occasions when he could not make it to the baths, and had Dean stand near the place the water emptied out into the street. 

He watched the water sluice down the man's body, and began to methodically wipe him clean.

"You must have earned a bath, after all the work you've done," said Castiel quietly.

Dean seemed confused and a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

But Castiel's gentle ministrations had a purpose.

He washed and cleaned him, pressing inside for a moment, making Dean yelp. 

"There," he said, leading him back into the chamber and laying Dean onto the bed, who went willingly. 

Dean's eyes had a shade of suspicion in them, a strange look like he feared breaking apart. 

Castiel had seen that look on soldiers before. Hard. Unrelenting. As if they were inhuman beneath all that armor.

Castiel planned to break Dean in every beautiful way, leaving the man in shards around him, carving his name into his heart, leaving a brand upon his soul.

"Cas. What're you doing - " Dean began, but Castiel just pet the insides of his thighs.

He dipped his fingers in warm olive oil and began to work him open.

" _Ah!_ " cried Dean, nearly jackknifing. "Castiel!"

But Castiel just settled him again, and worked painstakingly slowly as he watched Dean harden before his eyes, cock straining and dripping. 

"Come on, get on with it," said Dean, throwing an arm over his eyes, overwhelmed.

"Patience," soothed Castiel, and continued to work Dean open slowly, until he was melting into the bed and his cries had become incoherent.

_With the locals, it's one-and-done,_ Balthasar had said.

Then Castiel planned to make this last.

He was a soldier.

Moreover, he was a centurion.

He knew the reward of patience, and the value of intense control.

Whether it was over his soldiers or himself, Castiel never wavered.

Tactics were a useful thing in private life as well.

He washed the oil from his hand with the rosewater, and stood up, looming over Dean.

The young man's chest was heaving with effort, and he peeked out from beneath his arm, where Castiel could see the tears drying.

He lined himself up, and pushed inside Dean, slow and sure.

Dean gasped and grabbed at him, fingers slipping across his chest.

Castiel felt that hot, tight vise around his cock, fireworks behind his eyes, the triumph of claiming.

_Control. Control._

Slowly, he fully sheathed himself inside. Dean's eyes were huge, the rebellion in them vanished, open and trusting like he had never really _seen_ Castiel until this moment.

Castiel lifted him bodily and laid him on the bed, where he surged forward to cover him, deeper inside, and stared down into those bright green eyes that now seemed given over to him, to his pleasure.

And he stayed there, just like that, gazing down at the beauty of the man beneath him.

"Move," Dean whispered, and Castiel caught his soft lips in a kiss.

"In due time," Castiel whispered back.

Then he placed his mouth next to Dean's ear.

"You are worthy," said Castiel. "Of love, and of gentle treatment. Of all good things, Dean. You are more than good enough. I bless the day I first saw you, I bless this gift you have given to me. You are the most heart-rendingly beautiful thing I have ever seen, and moreover, a good man. You deserve everything. You deserve the world. And I would give it to you, if I could."

Castiel drew back to see the tears falling from Dean's eyes again, and he caught them on his lips and tongue.

Slowly, he began to move.

Dean cried out, and wept, and clutched at Castiel's back. He tried to look away from Castiel's deep gaze boring into his soul, but Castiel took his chin in hand and held it steady.

"Look at me, my love," said Castiel. "I want to see you."

Then, Castiel lifted Dean again, now into his lap as he got to his knees, thrusting harder but keeping the same slow, torturing rhythim.

Thus exposed, Dean's mouth dropped open and he made a little pathetic whine.

But his face was bare of that _look_ of desperation and searching that Castiel had seen while he was bathing.

Now he had a look of revelation, of surprise, of finding something unexpected, and it was just what he had been looking for.

Castiel's powerful thrusts made Dean an incoherent mess, as he started whispering bitten-off curse words and gave himself over entirely. 

"Come for me, Dean," commanded Castiel, and Dean's eyes widened as he took a particularly hard thrust and his cock kicked _hard_ against Castiel's stomach. He made a desperate groaning sound like he'd just been cut off at the hinges and watched helplessly as his come spurted out of his cock, dripping down it, and onto Castiel's stomach.

Then Castiel laid his claim.

Snarling, he set himself free, pounding relentlessly into Dean with all the built-up frustration of the last several days, and bellowed his orgasm as his fingers tightened on Dean's shoulders hard enough to bruise, as he marked him up inside, Castiel's cock twitching with it.

Sated for the moment, Castiel cradled Dean's head on his shoulder, breath coming in erratic sweeps as he came down from his high. 

Carefully, he laid Dean onto the bed and slipped out of him.

Dean, all tough pretense vanished, burrowed his face against Castiel's shoulder and gave a contented sigh.

Castiel wrapped strong arms around him and smiled his victory to the ceiling, as Dean fell asleep in his arms.

***

The following morning, Castiel woke with the dawn.

He stared down at the man in his arms as the sun came through the window, illuminating him in the early-morning light.

Dean's body glowed in the sunlight, bronzed and freckled, and his hair was flecked with gold. He looked ethereal and otherworldly.

Every time Castiel looked at him, he was surprised to find that he had just seen the most beautiful thing to ever walk the earth. And each time he looked at him, he was surprised again by the same thing. 

_Dean,_ thought Castiel fondly.

Those bright green eyes opened, and they were heart-stoppingly gorgeous in the morning light.

"Good morning," he mumbled, muzzy and sleep-soft.

Castiel thought he would die, his heart was over-full. If he had thought this night would sate his desires, he was wrong. 

This had only fanned the flames.

"Come to Rome with me," he blurted out.

Dean lifted his head, confused.

"Rome?" he asked.

"Yes," said Castiel with enthusiasm. "I am to retire within the next week and I return to Rome. You would love it there, and your brother -"

He faltered.

Dean put a hand on his chest.

"I didn't do this to free my brother," he assured Castiel. "You paid the taxes, so Samuel will be free. Right?"

Castiel nodded.

"I did this because," said Dean, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "I wanted you, Castiel."

Castiel's heart would not be able to take much more of this.

"I wanted you too, Dean," said Castiel. "And Samuel will be free to go. But I'd like it if you and your brother would accompany me to Rome."

"You've only been with me once, and now you can't live without me, eh?" teased Dean.

Castiel just nodded.

"Well, that's great news," said Dean. "I feel the same way."

And he kissed Castiel, whose dreams were all coming true.

"Let me speak with Samuel," said Dean. "And I will let you know. But I'm pretty sure he would say yes to an opportunity to live at the center of the empire."

"All right," said Castiel, covering Dean in kisses. "All right."

"Today?"

"Today."

"Then, we have some time," said Dean, and placed Castiel's hand on his already-hardening cock.

Castiel smiled.

***

Later that day, Samuel and Dean were reunited.

"It was _incredible,_ Dean," Samuel was saying. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Being in a dungeon?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" said Samuel. "That was just the first day. The following day, they took me out, and let me tour libraries and meet philosophers, scholars - everything! You would not believe the incredible amount of work has been done throughout the empire in science and mathematics - "

Dean sent Castiel a knowing look.

"I see your game," he said. "Entice my little brother with these wonders of the empire, set the trap and spring it on me when you know I can't say no to Samuel. Am I right?"

Castiel allowed himself a small smile.

"Something like that," he said. 

"Well, Samuel," said Dean. "Castiel here has taken me as a lover, and wishes that I accompany him to Rome when he returns there next week for his retirement."

Samuel's expression of excitement was no surprise. But then his face fell.

"Alone?" he asked.

"I'd be honored if you were to join us, Samuel," said Castiel.

"I didn't want to say yes on your behalf without asking you first," said Dean.

Samuel looked at him like he was crazy.

"What are you saying, Dean?" he said. "Of course I'd like to join you!"

"Good," said Dean. "Because I didn't want to give Castiel up, but you know I would. For you."

"You need to stop sacrificing everything for me," Samuel admonished him. "You need to live your own life too, Dean."

"And I am," said Dean. "Courtesy of Castiel. So what do you say? Are you ready to leave this place behind?"

"Am I," said Samuel, shaking his head. "I am ready whenever you are. When do we leave, Castiel?"

"In five days," said Castiel. "If you are ready by then."

"We'll be ready," Dean promised, and Samuel nodded.

Castiel felt like he could walk on air.

***

Five days passed, and it was time to say farewell to the place he had lived for so many years.

It was surprisingly easy to do so, but Castiel understood that it was because the only thing he really cared about now was coming with him.

Thomas thanked him for being such a reasonable superior, and told him with tears in his eyes that they would not see a soldier of his like again. Castiel had a personal message for each of his soldiers, these men he had loved like a family all these years.

The last person he bid farewell was Balthasar.

"You know that I'll be following you back home soon enough," Balthasar said, embracing him. "I expect the finest wines, and perhaps some beautiful serving girls, at your villa."

"You will be welcome there, always, my friend," Castiel smiled.

Balthasar kept a hand on Castiel's forearm and squeezed it in a kind of friendly warning.

Castiel gave him a sharp, questioning look.

"I worry for you, Castiel," said Balthasar. "Love has blinded you, old friend."

Castiel pulled himself out of Balthasar's grip.

"Leave it, Balthasar," he warned.

"I have little trust in the situation," Balthasar said. "It doesn't add up."

"Don't meddle in things that don't concern you," snapped Castiel.

"Oh, but it does," said Balthasar. "How do I know this will work out?"

"Find me at my villa and we shall see," said Castiel.

Balthasar sighed.

"I knew you wouldn't listen to me, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least try," he said.

Then he embraced Castiel again.

"Go," he said. "And hope my misgivings are wrong."

"They're wrong," said Castiel, "but I thank you for your concern for me. You're a good friend."

"I know you have a reputation for strategy," said Balthasar. "But love makes strong men blind."

"Noted," said Castiel.

He grinned.

"My villa," he said. "Six months from now."

"How shall I find you?"

"Ask around."

Thus saying, Castiel and Balthasar parted ways.

Castiel left the town that afternoon, with Dean and Samuel in tow, headed for that destination where all roads lead.


	8. Chapter 8

"Name."

"Castiel, late of Palmyra."

"Castiel! Welcome home."

"Thank you."

Castiel smiled at the thought that word of his exploits had reached even the city guards. As his carriage passed by the guardhouses, the sun came up over the Eternal City.

Here, he gestured for the driver to stop, and he dismounted again from the carriage.

Castiel knelt there, above the seven hills of Rome, and prayed.

_Thank you, Father, for delivering us safely home._

_Thank you, thank you, thank you for Dean._

_Amen._

"What are you doing?" 

Castiel turned to see Dean, who had been asleep in the flat carriage used for a bed, rubbing his eyes and squinting into the early morning sun.

"Praying."

Dean's eyebrow arched, and Castiel was arrested by his beauty yet again.

He wondered when he would grow accustomed to seeing it, the way people with beautiful views eventually become.

_But Dean is like the sunrise, and no sunrise is the same._

_I shall never find a moment when I am unsurprised by his beauty._

"That so," said Dean, and Castiel realized he had spoken aloud.

"It is," Castiel agreed, and ran a hand through his hair, kissing him.

"What're you prayin' for?"

"Not for," Castiel corrected him. "Thanking God for our safe passage. There are many _banditti_ on the road to Rome, and even more on the hills above it."

"Then why're you praying now, if we aren't there yet?"

"Because," said Castiel, "it is wise to pray for those things you have already been given."

"So you're going to pray again when we reach Rome?"

"Yes," agreed Castiel. "And many more times than that."

"Seems like a lot to bother God with," said Dean. "Samuel prays once a day, I think."

"Perhaps more, inside his head," grinned Castiel. "And every time I pray, I thank God for you."

Dean gazed at him, dumbfounded.

"I don't see why," he said, his voice like the creak in a carriage-wheel, trying to flatten some emotion.

"Then I'll keep praying until you do," said Castiel. "Come here, a moment. See Rome from above."

Dean climbed down from the carriage, clearly still waking up.

He looked down the valley and his jaw dropped.

Rome was the center of the Empire and one of the most beautiful cities that had ever existed. As the morning sun poured down the hills onto the buildings and the people just waking up, it was a sight to see.

"Samuel," called Dean. "Wake up. You need to see this."

Samuel emerged from another carriage and joined them at the cliffside.

None of them spoke, for Rome in the early morning light was magic enough.

***

The carriages rolled up outside of a Roman villa, where a handsome young man was waiting.

"Apollonius," Castiel greeted him with an embrace.

"Castiel," Apollonius said. "Welcome back."

"It's good to be home," he said. "And the villas - "

"Three of them," said Apollonius. "You can view them this very afternoon. Unless you are too fatigued from your journey?"

"No, indeed," said Castiel. "I am eager to start my new life. Apollonius, I'd like you to meet Dean and his brother Samuel."

Apollonius looked at the two men and was speechless for a moment.

"Have you brought me these men to sculpt?" he asked. "I have never seen their like."

Castiel laughed.

"We are in agreement on one thing, at least," said Castiel. "And no - Dean is with me, Samuel is his brother."

Apollonius bowed to them both in greeting.

"Then follow me," he said. "Your repast is waiting. You must be weary after such a long journey."

"Rome wakes me," said Castiel. He took Dean's hand and murmured to him, "Although I would enjoy the opportunity to have you sculpted. Your beauty should be recorded for posterity, so that people may enjoy it in the future."

Dean reddened beneath the praise, but did not reply.

Apollonius led them into a great courtyard filled with trees and statues. There was a table set at its center, filled with meats, grapes, fruit and delicacies, along with all kinds of other good things.

"Please, take a seat," Apollonius said, and everyone did so.

"Are these your work?" Samuel asked, gesturing to the statues.

"Yes, they are," said Apollonius. "It pays well to be a sculptor in Rome these days, especially one so close to the emperor."

Castiel had bowed his head in prayer. When he looked up again, Apollonius was regarding him with a slightly exasperated smile.

Dean was staring at him openmouthed with a very strange expression on his face.

"Dean?" asked Castiel. 

Dean shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "It's nothing."

"Go ahead and take whatever you'd like," Apollonius invited them. "The servants have the day off so I'm afraid we'll have to do all the work. Good for the digestion. Then after lunch, I'll take you around to see the different villas and you can choose one."

"How rich are you, exactly?" asked Dean.

Apollonius laughed.

"Castiel has served his nation well," he said. "But he is also of noble birth. The necessary arrangements will be made on his behalf. He only has to choose, and the villa will be his from sundown tonight."

Dean's mouth snapped shut and he returned to his food while Samuel carried on a spirited conversation with Apollonius about the state of the artistic community in the city.

"Are you all right, Dean?" murmured Castiel across the table.

Dean wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Talk to me," Castiel said.

Finally, Dean looked up.

"I don't deserve this," he said. "I don't deserve you."

"You don't think you deserve to be saved," said Castiel, finishing his thought.

Dean just stared at him again. The look on his face was inscrutable. It was like nothing Castiel had seen before.

"I did not do this to shame you," said Castiel. "I felt that men like you and Samuel deserved something better than you had back in Palmyra. You deserve the world, like I told you before. I cannot give you that, but I can give you this."

"But why?" asked Dean. "Why me?"

"Why not?" asked Samuel, joining their conversation.

Dean glared daggers at his brother and then went back to his food.

"Thank you, Samuel," said Castiel, nodding. 

"You don't know me," mumbled Dean through his food.

Apollonius went to fetch more wine as Castiel reached out and put a hand over Dean's.

Dean looked up with a flash of something almost guilty in his eyes.

"I know enough," said Castiel. "And it is my choice. This is what I have chosen."

"Thank you, Castiel," said Samuel, his enthusiasm a strong counterpoint to Dean's melancholy. "I don't think we will ever be able to thank you enough."

Then he nudged his brother under the table, glaring at him with a look that said _don't be inconsiderate._

Apollonius sat down with a fresh jug of wine, and the topic moved on to current events in Rome and the world.

Yet Castiel kept an eye on Dean in his peripheral vision, something he was uniquely skilled at, and could not help but notice that his expression never brightened at all.

***

The first villa was too ostentatious for Castiel.

"This is far too much for one man," said Castiel, indicating the enormous white rambling buildings, the fountains and trees, the ornamental gardens. "How would I ever keep it running?"

"It seems to me that you're looking for housing for three men, not one," Apollonius reminded him. "Any Roman villa worth its salt becomes self-sufficient. This one has had excellent yields in every harvest for the last seven years."

"Yes, and a coterie of slaves to go with it, I assume," said Castiel drily. "You know how I feel about slavery, Apollonius."

Apollonius sighed.

"I do," he admitted. "But this one became available, and I wouldn't be a good friend if I hadn't at least showed it to you."

"Let us see the second villa," said Castiel, and they were off.

The second villa was nowhere near as ostentatious as the first, but it was further out into the countryside.

"This place seems like it would invite _banditti,_ " said Castiel. "Not only on the road, but here at the villa itself. Isolation is no protection, and I have just left the soldiering life. I have no need for such a place that would require a bodyguard."

"The views are excellent," said Apollonius. "And there is far more yield here with less space than the other villa was taking up in the city."

"True," said Castiel. "But if I must always sleep with one eye open, what's the use of it? I crave peace now, and a man who cannot have peace in his own home is not a man at peace at all."

Apollonius sighed.

"Very well," he said. "But there is only one other villa available. If you don't like that one, then you and your friends will be staying with me until something else comes on the market or is built."

"Understood," said Castiel, "but we would not want to inconvenience you. We can stay at an inn, or rent rooms in the city."

"You are always welcome to stay with me," said Apollonius. "Unlike you, I prefer my villas ostentatious and large. That way, I never even know I have visitors."

Castiel laughed.

"You have always had a way with words," he said. "Let's see this last villa, then."

The last villa was much smaller than the other two.

Its low, rust-pink walls were covered with grapevines and ivy.

Inside, a small courtyard with a fountain was joined by a bathing-pool, sparkling in the sunlight.

Balconies surrounded the central courtyard, and upon inspection, the rooms were light and airy with windows and doors that opened to the air. The overall impression was of a place that needed a roof but had almost done away with walls and doors altogether, the sweet scent of flowers on the wind permeating the place. There were mosaics on the walls and the floors, and bees buzzed lazily in the small and tasteful flower gardens that surrounded the place. It stood out from a small forest on one of the hills overlooking Rome, with a gentle lawn in the front that rolled softly down toward the city.

"This is beautiful," breathed Dean, and Castiel had to agree.

"It's small, but its vineyard is high-yield," said Apollonius. "This villa is self-sufficient even without servants, for the man who wishes to do the hard work himself. I thought it would appeal to you, Castiel, as I know that you do not enjoy the idle indolence of your friends, such as myself."

"You hide an industrious interior with an indolent exterior," said Castiel. "I know you, Apollonius."

"Be that as it may," he said, "do you have interest in this villa?"

Dean and Samuel had already set out to explore, walking the balconies, in and out of the rooms.

"What do you think?" called Castiel.

"I've never seen a place like it," said Dean. 

"I think it's perfect," said Sam.

"Don't you want to look around more?" asked Apollonius. "You'll let them decide?"

Castiel smiled.

"I've been living in barracks and borrowed housing for years," said Castiel. "These men have never had anything in their lives. Men who dream are men who know, Apollonius."

"Castiel," said Apollonius, hesitant. "I don't want to meddle in your affairs - "

"Then don't."

"But," Apollonius pressed on, "are you certain that you trust them? That you should be making these serious decisions based on their say-so? You don't _know_ them. Not as you know me, or Balthasar, or Thomas, or any of your other Roman friends."

"I feel that our suspicion is detrimental and unfounded," said Castiel. "After living and working among these people for so long, I have come to find that Romans see enemies everywhere, much to my dismay. I had to put a stop to - let's say, _several_ unsavory things during my time in the army. I built up a group of men I could trust, it is true, but it took much trial and error."

"And yet you are apparently giving these men more of a benefit of the doubt than you would your own soldiers," said Apollonius. "They are beautiful. There is no doubt. But I caution you, Castiel, to think with something other than your libido."

Castiel smiled.

"I thank you for your concern," he said. "I am glad to know I have such good friends, who worry so much about me. But in this case, your concern is unfounded. These are good men who have been dealt a bad hand in life. I wanted to improve their lot."

"And in so doing, see that you don't worsen yours," said Apollonius.

"We are spoiled people, we Romans," said Castiel. "These men have more integrity, moral fortitude, than anything I saw in years."

"Careful now," warned Apollonius. "You begin to sound like a traitor yourself."

"Oh, no," said Castiel. "I am loyal to Rome. But I have begun to question some things, after being stationed there, and interacting with the people for so long. No man knows everything, and no man is always right. These are things the philosophers tell us. We do not often get to put their philosophy into practice."

"If you say so," said Apollonius. "Then what is the verdict?"

"I shall take the villa. It will spare you the discomfort of long-term guests, anyhow."

Apollonius gazed into his eyes with intent.

"I would accept it, if it meant that I could keep an eye on you, and them," he said in earnest.

"If it should come to that, I am the warrior," said Castiel. "You are a sculptor. I can take care of myself."

"No warrior is without his weakness," said Apollonius. "Remember Achilles, Castiel."

Castiel nodded.

"Understood," he said. "Please, Apollonius."

Apollonius finally relented, nodding.

"You can take possession right away," he said. "I will have the contracts drawn up and brought to you in the morning."

Castiel went to tell Dean and Samuel the good news.

"By the by," said Apollonius. "The gods are either smiling or playing a trick here."

"What do you mean?" asked Castiel. "Don't start up again."

"Not that," said Apollonius. "But the name of the villa - "

Castiel looked at the wall, and brushed the vines away from the mosaic announcing the name of the house to visitors and new arrivals.

" _Villa Eden_ ," he murmured.

"Is that not where they say it was located? The place you have just returned from?"

"The Fertile Crescent," Castiel agreed. 

"A coincidence, but a striking one," said Apollonius. "Who knows what the gods are thinking?"

"Not I," said Castiel, and the tile was cool to the touch beneath his fingertips.


	9. Chapter 9

That night, Castiel slept in his own bed for the first time in years.

No more barracks, no more inns except by choice.

He could remain here, with Dean and Samuel, as they made their own wine and Samuel pursued his studies. He could go into politics or simply live out an idyllic life here with the man that fate had thrown into his path.

Dean slept beside him, and Castiel could not imagine himself a happier man.

***

Two nights later, it happened.

Castiel startled awake to see Dean standing over him.

"Dean?" he asked.

Dean just took his face in his hands and kissed him again and again, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Dean, what's wrong?" asked Castiel, but Dean refused to answer, and sank down to the bed with him.

Soon, Castiel was distracted, and he all but forgot the incident.

***

Over the week, gift after gift arrived at Villa Eden for the housewarming.

Samuel exclaimed over the horses and camels, the silks and stuffs, the incredible wealth given to Castiel.

"You must be loved," exclaimed Samuel. "For so many to offer you their riches."

"I don't know about _loved_ ," said Castiel, taking yet another shipment, "but the men who served under me knew that I cared deeply for them. They were not just numbers, not just a wall to be killed as any Caesar saw fit. I would, and did, rebel against orders that treated them in such a way. The soldiers who have retired and now made their fortunes are sending gifts in remembrance of this, I think. Too many leaders see their people as disposable. I never did. I knew the name of every man in my company, every man's wife or husband, their children, their homes. If one died in battle, I went personally, if I could, and if not, I sent a trusted adviser like Thomas. Men will fight for those they love, it is true, but how much more will they fight for those who love them."

Samuel gave him a strange look, similar to the one Dean had given to him back when they had been at lunch with Apollonius. Like he was trying to work something out in in his head and Castiel had surprised him somehow.

Dean drew him aside and whispered in his ear.

"Tonight, I will give you my own housewarming gift," he said.

***

Castiel watched as Dean danced for him alone.

Like the night at the tavern, but this time he knew the performance was for him.

He watched as Dean flipped a coin back and forth over his stomach muscles, arching off the ground. He stared as Dean moved in sensual undulations around the room.

There was no music, but somehow Dean could hear it.

Castiel felt he could hear it too.

Later, when Dean was astride him, moving his hips in a figure eight and making Castiel go cross-eyed with the flutter of muscles over which he had perfect, independent control, inside him, against him, Castiel was helpless and spilled inside him with a shout.

"Welcome home," Dean whispered after he had finished, and collapsed in an exhausted heap beside Castiel, all smiles and spent seduction.

Castiel's cup overflowed, his joy was boundless.

He slept beside Dean without a care in the world.

***

Castiel met another messenger at the doorway, in the early morning sunlight dappling the rust-pink walls through the grape leaves. 

"Gift from Balthasar," said the messenger.

"Oh?" said Castiel, smiling.

He smiled so often, these days.

The young man handed him a small box and Castiel looked at it, puzzled.

"Is this all?" he asked, looking down the road.

"Yes?" said the messenger, a little confused lilt in the word.

 _Careful, he'll think you're spoiled,_ thought Castiel, but couldn't help continuing.

"It's just that - "

_Balthasar loves to be lavish, and now he sends me a trinket?_

"That's it," said the messenger. "Apologies, sir, but I'll be late for my next delivery."

"Understood," said Castiel. "I thank you."

The young man ran off, leaving Castiel by the gate.

Shaking his head, Castiel opened the box.

Inside, laying in hay stuffing, was a wooden horse.

"What - " Castiel said to himself.

He lifted the horse out of the box.

It was well-crafted, a beautiful little thing.

But a strange housewarming gift indeed.

Then he saw the little catch beneath the horse, a cleverly-designed trapdoor in his stomach.

Castiel used his fingernail to pry it open.

Little carved men fell out into the hay.

"Now isn't that clever," Castiel murmured. "The Trojan -"

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

"- Horse," he finished quietly.

He saw the edge of a piece of papyrus inside the horse and pulled it out.

 _BEWARE,_ it read. _MEET ME TONIGHT AT THE INN OF THE HANGING GRAPES. TELL NO ONE._

"Cas?" Dean's voice floated down to him from the balcony.

Castiel started and cast about himself.

"One moment," he said.

Castiel hurriedly gathered the little wooden men and put them back into the horse along with the note. He put the box together again, and left it in the jumble of things people had been sending to him over the week. It was lost in the mess right away, so he couldn't have picked it out himself.

Then he moved toward the staircase, up to the room, where Dean was waiting.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel could hear them talking as he mounted the stairs.

The warrior in him was slowly moving into place, his thoughts ordered, his steps sure.

The terror of betrayal had caught in his throat.

_Perhaps Balthasar had something else in mind,_ he thought, but he knew it was a foolish and desperate idea. 

Castiel, the great strategist.

Castiel, the warrior.

Castiel, centurion, and leader of eighty of the best-trained mercenaries of the Empire -

brought low by a brothel dancer and his brother.

He moved softly, heel to toe, so that they would not hear him approach.

" - out. No."

" - aking so long? You had so many chances -"

Then they fell quiet, as if they were suspicious of the ongoing silence.

"Cas?" Dean called again, and Castiel knew he had to act as if nothing was wrong.

He changed his tread, and stepped heavily across the balcony now.

"Yes, Dean?" he said. 

Dean rounded the corner and Castiel didn't know exactly what he feared -

a sword, a knife, a monster in his place -

but there was just Dean, beautiful Dean, smiling up at him in the shadow and sunlight playing across his features and freckles, his eyes a brilliant green.

"My apologies," said Castiel. "I had to discuss delivery with the messenger for the larger gifts."

"That's all right," said Dean. "Will we have lunch together today?"

Castiel's teeth ground together.

"Of course," he said lightly. "This evening I must leave you and Samuel to your own devices, as I go to meet an advisor in the city."

"We'll join you," Dean offered. Castiel shook his head and smiled.

"No, it is a political matter to do with the implementation of masonry for some of the aqueducts," said Castiel, thinking fast. "Very dull, and just another civic duty. Why don't you and Samuel take a look around the city this evening together? I have left some money on the low table by the bed."

Samuel's eyes sparkled, and Castiel knew he had found his mark.

"Thank you, Castiel!" he said, and then he and Dean fell to discussing their plans.

Watching them, Castiel could not believe these men were his enemies. They just seemed like brothers looking forward to an evening on the town.

Dean looked up and caught his eye. That grin would melt his heart every single time.

Castiel had been strong his entire life. Impenetrable. Immovable. He knew there was a reason people called him _automaton_ and _statue._

And yet, one look from those eyes, and Castiel would fall.

He prayed that Balthasar was wrong, or that he was mistaken.

***

That night, Castiel made his way into the city. He still remembered it well; it was the city of his youth, after all. 

He doubled back on himself several times, making certain he wasn't being followed. 

He did not want to know whatever it was that Balthasar had to tell him. 

Partly because it was going to break his heart, perhaps irrevocably.

Partly because he felt so foolish carrying his reputation for cleverness and strategy so far only to be fooled at the last hurdle by people so base.

Balthasar was seated at a table near the door. When he saw Castiel, he waved at him, and took the jug of wine on the table outside. He gestured for another cup, and it was duly brought to them.

They stood together, cups of wine in their hands, as they looked out over the city in the last rays of the setting sun.

"I received your message," said Castiel. "What do you have to tell me? I am surprised to see you in Rome. I didn't think you would be furloughed for some time."

"Needs must," said Balthasar. "You know I had my suspicions. But I wanted to see you happy, my friend."

"And thus far I am ecstatic," said Castiel. "Tell me why you have come to bring me sorrow."

"It is not my choice," said Balthasar. "Events have forced my hand. Do you know of Zenobia?"

"Zenobia? Wife of the Caesar, the local one, in Palmyra."

"Well, he has died, and she has declared herself empress. She and her son plan to usurp Aurelian in their region, which they are styling the Palmyrene Empire."

Castiel just stared at him.

"And what does this have to do with me?"

Balthasar sighed. He took a sip from his cup.

"I do not relish being the bearer of bad tidings," he said. "But our intelligence tells me that there were two men of the Palmyrene forces that are no longer accounted for. One a scholar, one a soldier. The soldier is much like you, in fact. A _decanus,_ or chief of ten, much like you are a _centurion_ or chief of 80."

Castiel just gave him a blank stare.

"The word for a _decanus_ in their language is - "

"Dean," finished Castiel suddenly. "I thought - he looked Roman, he looked like a soldier - "

"There is a reason for that. If it is he, Zenobia trusted these men more than anyone else in her entire army," said Balthasar. "She is warlike. She spent her childhood hunting. She understands the value of subterfuge, of tactics, and she can recognize a good soldier when she sees one."

"But you have no proof that these missing men are Dean and Samuel."

"Not by name, it's true," said Balthasar. "But come, Castiel. Think. Reason in the way that you did before this man turned your head so. Who else could they be?"

"But they were poor," said Castiel. "Living in the slums. Dean was dancing and whoring for money! Soldiers don't do that - "

"But spies _do_ ," said Balthasar. "I had to come to see you in person because I knew how difficult this conversation was going to be. I knew that you were unlikely to believe it, because you don't _want_ to believe it. But I have just come from Palmyra, where the insurrection has crowned Zenobia empress."

"Impossible!" cried Castiel. "Aurelian will destroy the city for such impudence."

"He may," said Balthasar. "Unless, perhaps, the Palmyrenes had made their way into the city, close to people who would, in turn, be close to Aurelian."

Castiel drank off the rest of the wine in his cup.

"No," he said. "No, Balthasar. I refuse to believe it! I cannot fathom what their intent would be, when they could have killed me time and again. What proof have you?"

"The proof that I rode as if I were being chased, for _days_ , to get here in time!" said Balthasar. "I didn't know if you were dead or alive, I couldn't risk showing my face at your villa in case it tipped them off."

"I thank you for the warning," said Castiel in a tight voice. "And now that I am forewarned, I will keep my wits about me."

"Castiel, don't be foolish," said Balthasar. "We will return to your villa at the head of a hundred men!"

"Ridiculous," said Castiel. "It's two men, and if they are soldiers, they aren't Roman soldiers. Your evidence against them is shaky at best, although I do understand why you would think of them first. Their actions have not shown the truth of it, and I think you are looking for these missing soldiers in the wrong place. Still, I respect your knowledge as I always have, and your skill as a soldier. I know you would not have undertaken such a journey if you did not genuinely fear for my life and my safety. I thank you, once again, for your concern, but I can handle myself."

Balthasar sighed.

"He's really wormed his way into your heart," he said, defeated. "All right. I have done what I could."

He clapped Castiel on the shoulder.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I hope you're right about them. I fear not only for you, Castiel, but for Rome, and the kind of havoc spies could wreak within it. This is a risky dice-roll, and I fear that you have been blinded by the young man's beauty."

"If I need help, I will send for you," Castiel assured him. "Where are you staying?"

"With Apollonius, of course. Are you _sure_ you don't want our assistance?"

"Let me handle it."

"Castiel - "

"You trusted me in Palmyra as a soldier, and as a leader of soldiers. Trust in me now."

Balthasar's expression, even in the dark, was one of extreme doubt.

"As you say," he said, and Castiel could feel Balthasar's eyes on him as he walked away.

***

The climb to the villa on the hill gave Castiel ample time to think.

He'd heard the brothers' conversation earlier, and when he thought about it without Dean's presence clouding his mind, he had to admit to himself that Balthasar's misgivings made sense.

_None so blind as those who can't see,_ he thought ruefully. And that was just it, wasn't it?

Castiel had been accustomed to such strict celibacy for so long. He barely drank wine. He was in peak physical condition. He trained his mind, he had a reputation for strategy and brilliance for a reason. Wars were won by might and cleverness, and Castiel excelled at both.

_But you know what they say about pride, Castiel._

_And how it cometh before a fall._

He shook his head at himself. He couldn't figure out if it was his ego or his libido he couldn't see around.

But he wasn't even fooling himself with that question.

What he felt for Dean was more than lust. It was so all-encompassing that it frightened him, and he was a man who had commanded armies. If there were a way to bottle this feeling, Castiel felt that it would be extremely useful as a weapon.

Even if the brothers were the spies that Balthasar was looking for, they seemed uncertain in their purpose, in Castiel's opinion.

Soon enough, he found himself standing in front of the door to Villa Eden.

Just this morning, a welcoming paradise.

Now, the maw of hell, which Castiel was about to willingly throw himself inside.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the gate open.

***

He took the steps up to his bedroom.

_Their bedroom._

While Dean had chosen another room, he had never spent a night in it, always climbing into bed with Castiel and tucking his head underneath his chin. 

There was no one inside. 

Castiel sat at the edge of the bed, and brought the pillow to his face, chasing the scent of Dean. 

"Castiel."

Samuel's voice made him start.

Castiel dropped the pillow. He schooled his features.

"Samuel?" asked Castiel. "What is it?"

He turned to look at the younger brother as he walked through the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Samuel stood beside the door, ramrod-straight.

"Dean has something to tell you."

Castiel watched, expectant, as Dean came through the door, head bowed.

"We _both_ have something to tell you."

Dean wouldn't meet his gaze. He stared at the floor.

"Fifteen years ago, our mother was murdered by Roman soldiers."

Dean looked up at him. His eyes were bright.

"We were children then," he said. "But my father taught me well. Trained me. I was to go into the military. Samuel too. Then the Romans caught wind of our father's revenge plot and murdered him, too."

Castiel didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he said, in lieu of anything better.

"We learned by then that outright rebellion would not work," said Samuel. "Patience, subterfuge. Those were the only real options."

"So I joined," said Dean, "and eventually worked my way up the ranks to decanus, or dean."

"Is that your title, then, or your name?" asked Castiel flatly.

Dean smiled without humor.

"It's both," Dean said. "Our father had plans for us, it seems. And so I followed them to the letter. Samuel was always more bookish, and while he learned how to fight, he spent most of his time learning."

"People, books, it was all the same to me," Samuel put in. 

"And so we came up with a plan."

"Zenobia wanted to assert her rule after the death of her husband," Samuel explained. "So we needed to weaken the empire from within, somehow."

"And I learned that the local centurion had no interest in the finer things in life," said Dean, his voice hollow. "Wine, women, and song were all the same to him. But I wondered whether it was the _women_ aspect, given that the Romans had a very different view of these things. I learned to dance. I learned - other things, to help me in the seduction."

"Meanwhile, I did everything I could to gain access to the secrets of the Romans in Palmyra," said Samuel. "Their books, their parchments. Anything that would tip the balance."

"So that night, on the rooftop," said Castiel. "You knew."

"I suspected," said Dean. "I only _knew_ the next time it had happened. The line was set. The next stage was to ensure our meeting, which was simple enough with the nonpayment of our taxes."

"And I sent Samuel to prison," said Castiel. "And then to the best libraries we had."

Samuel nodded. 

Castiel thought he would be furious.

He was numb.

"So Balthasar was right," he said. 

"We knew that you could get us close to Aurelian," said Dean. "We expected that you would meet him on the way back into Rome. From there, we would assassinate him, exposing Rome to political turmoil and solidifying Zenobia's rule in the west."

"When you didn't - "

"It ruined your plans."

Then Dean got to his knees and looked into Castiel's eyes.

"No," he said. "That's not what ruined our plans."

He sighed and looked at the floor.

"You did."

Castiel stared at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Dean looked up at him again. A tear slipped from his eye.

"I fell in love," he said.

He put a hand on Castiel's knee. Castiel shoved it away.

"Oh. So that's all right, then?"

"I held a silver blade to your throat every night," said Dean. "And every night, I could not bring myself to even put pressure on the blade!"

Castiel remembered waking up and finding Dean in tears. He shuddered at how close he had come to death that night, and apparently many nights besides.

"You are a different kind of man than we had expected," said Samuel. "Generous. Gracious. Kind. Not what we had been accustomed to with other Roman soldiers."

"And why are you telling me these things now?" asked Castiel. "Surely you would have been better off leaving in the night and returning to whatever pit you sprang from."

Dean recoiled at his words, but then pressed on in earnest.

"Because I could not bear living a lie a moment longer," said Dean. "Samuel wasn't sure, but I spoke for you. That you were a soldier, too. That you would understand."

"That you lied to me? You tried to murder me in my sleep?" said Castiel, standing up suddenly. "I do not know what kind of a man you think you are dealing with here, but I am a soldier, loyal to Rome! I am sure you laughed behind your hands, the great tactician Castiel fooled so easily by a whore and his brother! Well, you may enjoy your joke for the rest of your lives. Get out of my sight."

Samuel nodded, as if he had expected just such a reception. He walked out the door and down the stairs.

Dean, though -

Dean stood there as if he hadn't quite expected to find himself here, and now that he was, he wasn't sure what to do about it.

"Castiel," he began.

"No. Get out."

"But I - "

Suddenly Castiel crowded him up against the wall near the door.

"You are _lucky_ I am letting you live," snarled Castiel. "You took advantage of my kindness. You lived with me as a husband lives with a wife! I was so happy, and you took that happiness from me. Here I was, defending you and cursing Balthasar! I was such a _fool._ Never again."

He let Dean go.

"Get out. I never want to see your face again."

Dean gazed at him with a beseeching look, but Castiel was what he had always been: a statue.

His shoulders dropped and his head bowed, Dean walked out the door.

Castiel walked out of the door and stood on the balcony, watching to make sure that they left. 

The gate opened and Samuel walked out. 

Dean hesitated, and turned to look at Castiel in the darkness.

This image, he knew, would be tattooed on his heart until the day that he died.

But he was resolute, his arms crossed. Dean finally turned away, defeated, and he closed the gate behind them.

Moments later, when he could trust himself to move, Castiel fled into the room, buried his face in the pillows that still carried that faint scent of Dean, and he sobbed.

***

A commotion roused him around ten minutes later.

His eyes were bleary, his throat was scratched from the hitched sobs he had hidden in the pile of pillows. 

But he had enough of his wits about himself to recognize that there was some kind of altercation happening in the street outside.

He quickly splashed water on his face and hurried down the stairs, out the door and down the street a little ways, where he stopped dead.

Dean and Samuel stood alone together in front of a legion of Roman soldiers carrying torches.

Castiel recognized the man at the head of the army.

"Balthasar," he said.

"Good evening, Castiel," said Balthasar.

"What are you doing?"

"I've come to take these men in," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, but I really couldn't."

Dean wheeled to look at him.

"Cas, please," he begged, and Castiel could see that scared little boy who had lost both parents to Roman soldiers just like these, a little boy's fear written across the eyes of the grown man he had loved.

For a moment - just for a moment - his resolve weakened.

Castiel stared at the ground.

"You were right, Balthasar," he said. "They confessed. Take them away."

" _Cas, no!_ " shouted Dean, but the soldiers had him and Samuel now, and they were led away.

Castiel stood in the darkness, and listened to the man he loved screaming for him, and did nothing.


	12. Chapter 12

**_THREE MONTHS LATER_ **

" _Cas, no!_ "

_Dean was reaching for him, and Castiel had grabbed his arm, pulling him free of the soldiers, telling Balthasar to stand down -_

Castiel opened his eyes.

He could hear the birdsong in the trees, the sun bright and warm.

_A day for picking grapes, or lounging by the bathing-pool, letting Dean feed him -_

The reality of his situation hit Castiel broadside.

Again.

Dean was gone.

***

That had been the first morning.

That had been every morning since.

The same dream. The same waking realization. Every day.

Castiel got out of bed and walked outside.

It was quieter here, now. The laughter and the conversation that had once accompanied most of his mornings was noticeably absent. 

The wind tossed the blossoms of the trees, shedding petals on the ground.

_How lovely Dean would have looked, walking among them._

Furious with himself, tears burning at the backs of his eyes, Castiel forced himself to drag his mind away from Dean. 

Ever since he had first seen the man on that rooftop in Palmyra, what seemed like a lifetime ago, it was as if Castiel had never known a life without him. He had gravitated toward him, wanted - no, _needed -_ to be by his side.

And it had all been a ruse.

Castiel hated himself for being so stupid. He also hated himself for what he had done to Dean.

_That was his own choice,_ he reminded himself. _You cannot lay the blame on yourself._

Castiel sighed deeply.

_Are you certain about that?_

***

A day at Villa Eden had passed.

And another. And another.

Soon, a month had passed, and more.

Castiel eventually realized that even though he had chosen a smaller villa, he would still need assistance. He could not look after the place on his own.

Now that there was no other assistance to be had.

He went to the gate of the villa. He was finding his solitude oppressive, now that months had passed.

Every corner of the villa and its surroundings, the sparkling blue of the fountains and of the bathing-pool, reminded him of Dean or Samuel. The entire place told the story of the foolish soldier who had been bested by the man he loved.

_Was it real? Was it ever real?_

_"I fell in love," he heard Dean say in earnest._

_Castiel knew better than to believe._

_He had learned._

He pushed the gate open.

There was a blond man standing in the road.

He turned around and smiled.

"Hello, Castiel."

"Balthasar?" said Castiel in surprise.

"Would you accompany me to lunch?" asked Balthasar, bowing. "I have things to discuss with you."

"I was on my way into the city to hire servants," said Castiel. "The villa is not manageable alone."

Balthasar nodded.

"Good," he said. "Let's go. There's a place with a view of the Coliseum that does a fantastic red."

"Lead the way," said Castiel, and fell in beside him.

***

"Do you know the story of Morgiane?"

Castiel shook his head, mopping up the olive oil with his bread.

"I do not," he said. "You were right, Balthasar. The wine here is delicious."

"When am I ever wrong?" asked Balthasar. "Anyway. Morgiane. You know the story of Scheherezade, the Thousand And One Nights?"

"Vaguely," said Castiel. "I was not privy to popular culture."

"Well, I will fill you in," said Balthasar. "Morgiane was a dancer. She knew that the man visiting Ali Baba was an enemy, but also that no one would listen to her. She danced with a sword; it was a part of her routine, you see?"

Castiel dropped the bread onto the plate and brushed his hands together, ridding them of crumbs.

"I don't like the turn this story is taking," he said.

"Hear me out."

Castiel nodded.

"So Morgiane dances for the men. During her dance, she kills the enemy with her sword."

"And I assume she was murdered for her troubles."

"They did arrest her, at first," said Balthasar. "But they discovered that the man was an enemy, and she was the hero, so she was excused. And then Ali Baba's son married her, with the entire family sharing in the treasure."

"Strange reward."

"Women do not have much choice, my friend," said Balthasar. "Morgiane was also the one who killed the thieves by tricking them into the baskets. She was a hero, all-round."

"These Persian stories," said Castiel, shaking his head.

"Stories a young, impressionable boy might have used to his advantage?" asked Balthasar.

"What are you angling for here?"

Balthasar sighed. He lifted his wine glass.

"He does nothing but ask for you," he said. "Sometimes, late at night, he weeps, though the jailer tells me that he ensures no one can hear him."

"Yet the jailer heard him."

"It's a prison, Castiel. The only people who think they can hide anything there are the prisoners."

"Let him weep," said Castiel grimly, looking out over the Coliseum in the sunlight.

"That's cruel of you," said Balthasar. "I thought you loved the man."

"I loved a man who did not exist," snapped Castiel. "You made certain that I would know just how dangerously foolish I had been. So why come to me now, with silly stories from a faraway land? If you have switched sides and are now arguing for their cause, I can say with certainty that you are not the Balthasar I thought I knew, either."

Balthasar held his gaze.

"I know you are angry," he said. "And you are hurt. But I think that beyond all the subterfuge, he truly loves you."

"Yes, so that is the only thing he _wasn't_ lying about?" said Castiel. "Try again."

"Palmyra is gone."

Now Castiel sat up and stared at him.

"What do you mean, _gone_?" he asked. "Impossible. Palmyra is large enough to be a city-state. Not as large as Rome, of course, but the wide boulevards and colonnades - "

"Are all that is left of the city."

Castiel was speechless.

"Aurelian heard of the plot to overthrow him," said Balthasar. "He did not react well. He razed Palmyra to the ground."

"And Zenobia?" asked Castiel. 

"Here, in Rome," said Balthasar. "Aurelian paraded her through the streets in golden chains. He has made a spectacle of her, shackled to a dais in the hippodrome."

"Infamous!" Castiel cried.

"Yes," Balthasar agreed. "But I've come to tell you, because these men - they no longer have a home, Castiel. Rome took their parents, and their empress. Now it has taken their home as well. If they are released from prison, they will have no home. They will be itinerant, moving from place to place with no fixed abode. They may become _banditti_ , in time. And that is if they are lucky. You already know what happens to the unlucky, Castiel. Or you can guess."

"And?" Castiel's tone was harsh.

"And I am here on their behalf," said Balthasar. "I know I pushed you, because I feared for your life. And at the time, I was right to do so. But now - I don't see the point in their languishing in prison. Especially given the way that this Dean speaks of you."

"They wanted to overthrow Aurelian," argued Castiel. "They wished to murder me!"

"But they didn't," Balthasar pointed out. "And they had ample opportunity."

Balthasar drew a hand down his face, and then leaned back in his chair.

"I do not say the right or the wrong thing to do in these circumstances," he said. "I only come to offer you the choice."

"Even if I did wish to give them a second chance, Aurelian will not pardon them for their insolence."

"Of course he will," said Balthasar. "I never told anyone what they did."

"Balthasar...?"

He grinned.

"I felt that the truth could remain between you and I," he said. "Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

Balthasar shrugged.

"I figured I'd know it when I saw it," he said. "Besides. I might have been wrong, and you know how I _hate_ to be wrong. It was the only way that I'd be right, no matter what happened."

Then he leaned in.

"Besides," he said. "In all the time I've known you, I've never seen you smile and laugh so much. You were _happy_. And the day I realized that I'd have to come to Rome and tell you the truth is a day I sorely regret. Not my actions, but the necessity of taking away that happiness to preserve your life.

"But Castiel. I don't think the young man would have been able to go through with it. I did not realize it then. But he loves you as you love him. And I couldn't bear leaving it be."

Castiel stood from the table.

"Thank you," he said. "I will take it under advisement."

Balthasar put a hand on his arm.

"I would ask your forgiveness, but I cannot," he said. "I understand now what you saw in him. Because he sees the same in you."

"I have wasted enough time on him," said Castiel. "I must go and search for servants, Balthasar."

"So you won't even consider - "

"No."

Balthasar breathed a weary sigh.

"I only have myself to blame, I suppose."


	13. Chapter 13

Some weeks passed.

Castiel did not see Balthasar again.

He was also not having much luck in his search for servants.

He had an unfruitful day in the district of Rome usually reserved for debauchery and drink, an area that Castiel had never much frequented.

Dejected, he made his way home through the dark streets, when he heard a familiar song from one of the low taverns.

_Persian music._

Castiel thought fondly of the days when Dean seemed to dance for him alone.

It was strange. The more time passed, he expected his thoughts of Dean to fade.

They had only intensified, despite all his efforts to rid himself of them.

_Perhaps,_ said a small voice in the back of his head that grew louder by the day, _you made a mistake._

But Castiel was stubborn.

It was one of his greatest assets, and his worst faults.

He refused to listen.

But now -

something about the music made him slow his pace, and look inside the tavern.

" _Dean?"_

Castiel could not believe the evidence of his eyes.

But it was Dean, dancing for a crowd of appreciative onlookers, who threw coins to him as he moved sinuously around the dance floor.

Castiel was unable to move, staring at the man just as he had before.

It seemed that he was powerless to do anything else.

He watched the routine until Dean finished with a pose to raucous applause.

Half-mad, he searched for the side-alley he knew would be there, just as he had back in Palmyra.

And he waited.

***

"Thanks," said Dean, as he emerged into the alley. "Yes, I'm happy with my cut. Nice doing business with you. I'll see you next week."

He pocketed his coins and walked into the deserted street.

"Dean."

Dean whipped around to see Castiel detach from the wall where he had been leaning.

"Castiel."

And oh, the coldness in his tone shocked him through.

"You know it's not a good idea to creep up on someone like that," said Dean. "You could be killed."

"So could you," said Castiel. "What are you doing here?"

"Balthasar let me and Samuel go free," said Dean. "No thanks to you, I hear."

"Dean, I -"

"You left me there to _rot!_ " said Dean. 

"You lied to me. For months!" said Castiel, stepping into Dean's personal space. "You tried to kill me!"

"And I didn't!" Dean retorted. "Now I'm not so sure!"

"What did you expect? That I would say _oh that's fine?_ And let you go? You fooled me, you tried to murder me, and criminals deserve punishment!"

"And what punishment did the Roman soldiers who killed my parents ever get?!" said Dean.

"That was not my doing!"

They stared at each other, panting.

Suddenly, they were kissing, teeth clacking against teeth, and Castiel's eyes rolled back in his head as his senses were flooded with _Dean, Dean, Dean -_

Castiel backed up against the alley wall and sank down onto the ground together, Dean in his lap. His hands caressed Dean's back, gilt with gold from the dance, the scent of perfume and sweat and _Dean_ making him heady and stupid - 

"I love you so much," Castiel gasped, "I love you so much, Dean."

"Yeah," whispered Dean. "Yeah, Cas."

He shimmied out of the pants he wore, and Castiel hurriedly moved his clothing out of the way. Dean took hold of their cocks, and they stared down together as they leaned their foreheads against each other. Openmouthed, Castiel watched their cocks slide in and out of Dean's capable hands.

"I've missed you," Castiel whispered. "I miss you, Dean. You're so beautiful - you - "

"That's it," Dean encouraged. "Fuck, Cas, you're so hard."

"Only for you," Castiel said. "It's been so long - _Dean -_ "

"Shh," said Dean, "I've got you."

And beneath the stars, in a deserted Roman alleyway, Castiel held his universe in his arms.

He threw his head back and roared as he came, cracking his head against the alley wall.

" _Fuck!_ " Dean swore, and came against Castiel's cock.

Panting, still leaning against each other, they both came down from their high.

Castiel pulled Dean closer.

"Come home with me," he said softly. "Let me lay you down on our soft bed, let me give you the life you deserve. Come home, Dean. I'm - "

"Three _denarii_ ," said Dean.

Castiel looked up at him, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"That's how much it costs."

Castiel just gave him an uncomprehending look.

"I didn't - I wouldn't -"

" _Pollute yourself with whores?_ " Dean mimicked. "Nice try. Pay up."

Castiel just stared at him.

"Fine," said Dean. "This one's on the house. But only on account of our history."

He stood up and tucked himself in, brushed himself off, and sauntered off down the alley.

"See you around, Castiel."

Castiel gaped at him, and didn't move.

After a while, the tears came, just as he knew they would.


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel stayed at his villa after the incident in the alleyway.

He haunted the place like a ghost, barely eating, letting the villa go to ruin, the vines and branches overgrown, the fallen leaves and flowers left where they had landed.

He did not go out.

He did not trust himself anymore.

What was it about this young man that made him so foolish? He had never been this way before.

_Dean doesn't want me._

_Dean doesn't want me._

After a while, it was the only mantra that mattered.

***

Castiel sat in a chair near the bathing-pool, a book in his hand.

It was one of his most precious belongings, a housewarming gift for a house that held only bittersweet memories now, and one that Castiel knew could never really be a home.

He was fading. He welcomed it.

He hadn't even been reading the book. It was just open on his lap as he stared into the middle distance, at the trees above his head, and a breeze moved the branches.

There was a knock at the garden-gate.

Castiel stood up with a deep sigh.

He pushed open the gate.

"Yes?"

And there was Dean, green eyes bright, a cautious smile on his face.

Samuel stood by his side, giving his older brother a stern look.

Samuel nudged him.

"We heard you were looking for servants, and it pays better than dancing."

***

Reluctantly, Castiel let them into the garden.

"Wow," said Dean, surveying the condition of the garden. "You sure let this place go, Cas."

Castiel said nothing.

"I'm going to take a look at these vines," said Dean. "Amuse yourselves."

He disappeared into the vineyard, leaving Samuel alone with Castiel.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Castiel.

Samuel turned to him.

"I know that we don't deserve, well, anything from you," said Samuel. "And I know that you might have a hard time believing me. But we came forward when we didn't have to, and Dean was right about one thing: we are all soldiers. That was a time of war."

"And if wartime returns?"

"You can trust us," said Samuel. "You can trust Dean. He loves you. Very much. I've never seen him like this in all my life."

Samuel looked at Castiel.

"Do you love him?"

"More than my own life."

"Then give us a chance, Castiel. Give _him_ a chance. Please."

"I never wanted to see you on the streets," said Castiel. "Balthasar came to ask me if I would approve of his setting you free. I did not."

"I know," said Samuel. "And that is a soldier's choice. But now you have the option to make the lover's choice. If that is something you want."

"Is it something Dean wants?" asked Castiel. "It certainly didn't seem to be, when I offered - recently."

Samuel's breath caught on a laugh.

"Dean is - willful. Headstrong. More sensitive than he seems, and hurts deeply, then lashes out. His anger will get the better of him. I've always been along for the ride. I don't remember my mother and my father and I did not get along. Dean obeyed everything he was told. I didn't. I've seen what my brother is capable of, both in love and loyalty. And he is quick to anger, quicker to forgive. But when he is hurt, he cuts like a knife."

"I see what you mean."

"But underneath it all, he is a good man, and a good brother," said Samuel. "You were right about him, in most ways."

"Just not in the sense that I could see when I was being played like a fiddle."

Samuel sighed.

"If Dean has a problem with anger, you have a problem with pride," said Samuel. "Will you let such a thing get in the way of a possible happiness?"

"Will Dean?" retorted Castiel. 

"I can forgive you my imprisonment, because I understand the warrior's choice," said Samuel. "A lover - it's different, Castiel. Think on how you might feel, were the tables turned."

"All right," called Dean. "I will need a few pairs of shears and and extra pair of hands."

"In a moment," said Samuel.

He gave Castiel a serious look.

"Do you have shears?"

"Yes."

"Then fetch them. You will work with Dean."

"I thought I was the employer."

"You are. And I am not good at this kind of work. So you're delegating."

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"So I've hired you, it seems."

"So it seems," Samuel agreed. "I will organize the house. Now you must go and put your own house in order."

Castiel smiled, a little.

"Your brother is right about you," he said. "You're the clever one."

"A little help here!" called Dean, and Samuel nodded to Castiel, then headed for the house.

"Think on it," were Samuel's parting words.

Castiel fetched the shears, and then went into the vineyard.

He steeled himself, as he saw the shadows playing across Dean's strong back, where he was pulling some of the vines.

"I will."

***

Dean looked down in the sun-dappled darkness to see Castiel standing there.

"What're you doing here? Where's Samuel?"

"Inside. He said he didn't have the head for this work."

Dean _tch_ ed and shook his head.

"That boy," he said, almost to himself.

"Can I help?"

"Yeah, if you take this - you see how the vine is growing? It needs to be cut back, but not too far so you don't kill it, you want the grapes to come out - yeah. Just like that."

Castiel stood on a little ladder beside Dean, as they worked through the afternoon in silence.

Every so often, Castiel would sneak a look at him in his peripheral vision, a talent he'd long since developed during his years as a soldier.

He caught Dean giving him fond looks when he thought Castiel couldn't see.

_Maybe,_ thought Castiel, _good things do happen._


	15. Chapter 15

Slowly, the villa started to look like its old self again.

Castiel watched Dean's gentle, sure hands, as they cleared and pruned, trimmed and made anew.

Castiel was beginning to feel that way himself.

"Here, let me show you how," Dean murmured, and bracketed Castiel's body with his own, standing behind him. He ran his hands down Castiel's arms in a light caress, something that could easily be excused by his attempts to teach. Castiel had to suppress a delicious shudder at his closeness.

Then, he slid his hand over Castiel's, covering it, and guiding him with soft persuasion.

Samuel chose that moment to walk outside. He caught sight of the two of them and smiled.

Dean hadn't noticed, and for that, Castiel was thankful, leaning into the man's warmth.

_Strange, how our roles are reversed now,_ thought Castiel. _I saved him, and now he is saving me._

For Castiel was well aware that a dark future had awaited him. He had never put much stock in the stories of those who had died of a broken heart.

Now he understood them all too well.

But Dean was here, and Samuel. Laughter and talk filled the villa once again.

Dean stayed in the room he had chosen so long ago.

They never spoke of it, any of the three of them.

Today, Castiel determined, would be different.

"Dean."

Dean froze. He could clearly hear the difference in Castiel's tone.

"Don't."

"We must talk about it."

Dean dropped his arms and backed away from Castiel. His mouth was a set line.

"Then talk."

Castiel stood there for a moment, silent, unsure how to proceed.

"Thought so."

"No, wait," said Castiel. He put a hand on Dean's arm. "I'm so sorry for what I did to you."

"That's it? No _but,_ no comebacks?"

Castiel sighed, and spread his hands.

"I love you, Dean," he said simply. 

Dean was taken aback. He'd been spoiling for a fight, and now there was nothing to fight against.

"I love you, Dean," said Castiel.

He took a step forward.

"Stop saying that," said Dean.

"I love you," said Castiel, stepping close to him.

Dean's eyes were trained on his lips.

"Stop," whispered Dean.

"I love - " Castiel said, and kissed him.

Dean sighed against him, made a sad little sound - and Castiel saw that strange searching desperation in his expression, the same as he had seen on that warm night almost a lifetime ago.

"I'm here," Castiel whispered against his lips. "I'll catch you if you fall."

And after a moment, Dean's arms came up, encircling Castiel.

Dean's hands went into Castiel's hair, his body a firm line against him, and he kissed with all the fervor of a man who, once lost, is found again.

***

"When Balthasar let us out, we had nowhere to go. We knew Palmyra had been razed, because he told us."

Castiel was laying in the soft grass near the bathing-pool with Dean, idly stroking his hair with his fingertips. He wanted to lose himself in that sea of emerald green.

"And we were not going to join the army, of course. Samuel's studies would need someone to give him a reference in order to work. So I returned to dancing."

"I'm sorry you had to endure that," said Castiel.

Dean smiled, and it was blinding.

"Don't be," said Dean. "I fell in love with dancing. Here I was, a hardened soldier, and nothing brought me joy like the beat of the drum, like schooling and training my body to dance. A completely unexpected result, but not an unwelcome one."

A blush was high on his cheeks now, defining his freckles.

"Like you."

"Like me?" asked Castiel, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"Unexpected," said Dean. He took a deep breath. "I love you, Castiel."

Castiel could have melted into the earth.

"I love you too, Dean," he replied, and when their lips met this time, Castiel could have sworn this was heaven.

***

As time passed, and the weather grew cooler, Castiel and Dean grew closer again.

Time heals all wounds, so the philosophers say.

Sometimes that isn't the case. Some rifts are insurmountable.

Castiel feared that what had happened between him and Dean was one of those things.

Unfortunate, because he felt about Dean the way he felt about breathing.

_The loss of it would end me._

Their road was fragile, but it held promise.

Dean still stayed in his own room, and apart from kisses traded in the garden, their relationship remained chaste. 

Samuel taught Castiel a great deal about the world, endlessly fascinating things he had gleaned from his studies. Castiel decided that perhaps scholarly pursuits were fitting for a retired soldier to have a well-rounded personality. He'd even thought about getting into politics.

First, though, he needed to know where this delicate thing with Dean was headed. But he refused to push.

For Dean's sake, and for his own.

So they worked together, the three of them, on restoring the villa and its grounds. They talked, and ate and drank together, building a new life out of the wreckage of the old one.

And it was a new life for all three of them, Castiel included. 

Dean continued to dance weekly at the tavern. He worked in the yard, and on various odd jobs around the villa. 

Every night, they said their goodbyes, and they went to bed alone.

One day, there was a knock at the gate, not unlike the one that had brought Dean and Samuel back to Castiel.

He answered the door. There was a young man standing there he had never seen.

"Yes?" asked Castiel. The young man bowed.

"I am Marcus, servant to Zenobia," he said. "She requests your presence. If you would be so kind."

"Zenobia?" asked Castiel. "I thought she had been arrested."

"She had," Marcus confirmed. "But they have given her liberty, and so she is housed in a villa a few leagues from here. Will you meet with her?"

Castiel looked over his shoulder, to where Dean and Samuel were talking in the garden, Dean gesturing toward the trees.

He turned back to the messenger.

"Yes," he said. "May I bring Dean and Samuel, my - "

_Servants? What do I call them?_

"Friends," said Castiel. "They are men of Palmyra, they would be honored by such an opportunity. If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"On the contrary," said Marcus, bowing again. "Their names are included in your invitation."

"Marcus," said Castiel. "Do you know the reason behind her invitation?"

Marcus shook his head.

"I am sorry, I do not," he said. "Only that your presence was requested. Shall I send word that you will arrive later?"

"No need," said Castiel. "We are ready now. If you can give me a few moments."

"Of course," said Marcus.

Castiel went to tell Dean and Samuel the news, wondering how word of his existence had reached an empress, and why Zenobia wished for their presence after all this time.


	16. Chapter 16

A soft wind blew across the grasses in front of the villa.

Castiel, Dean, and Samuel stood waiting.

Momentarily, a gorgeous woman emerged from the doorway, striding across the field toward them.

She had long, shining black hair that looped in an intricate design over her shoulders. A tiara sat on her head. Her dark eyes flashed, and her mouth was stern. She was broad-shouldered and muscular, beautiful and deadly.

"This truly is an empress," said Castiel. Dean just nodded.

"Greetings," she said warmly, in a voice rich and deep. "Castiel, I take it?"

Castiel bowed.

She turned, and her smile grew warmer still.

"Dean," she said, and he bowed his head, closing his eyes. "My decanus, my warrior."

She kissed the top of his head.

"And Samuel the scholar," she said. He smiled, bashful, and bowed deeply to her. She placed her hands on his head. "You may rise."

She turned and indicated that they follow.

"Come," she said. "A meal has been prepared for you. Break bread with me, my friends."

And she walked across the field like a goddess, the three men trailing in her wake.

***

Zenobia sat at the head of the table, servants at her left and right. They poured the wine and brought the food at her command.

"I must confess, Your Highness, that I had expected to find you jailed or worse," said Castiel.

Zenobia laughed, and it was strong and hearty, full of life.

"Rome," she said. "Ah, Rome. Had I known its riches, I'd have turned myself in long ago."

She looked down the table at Dean and Samuel. Her smile faded.

"Yet I do regret our beautiful Palmyra," she said. "Jewel of the desert, as are these men. Thank you for taking them in, Castiel. Many of my people are now scattered to the winds. But I valued these two above many."

Dean was blushing again, but Castiel could see that it was from the praise.

"Aurelian felt he had already been harsh enough to me," she said. "Destroying Palmyra - well. I feel that I must claim some fault in that. And if you should wish to cleave my head from my body for my arrogance, my boys - well, that is why I have called you here today."

"What? Why would we do that?" asked Dean.

"Because an empress must be accountable to her own people," said Zenobia. "We cannot hand over our intellect to patriotism, we cannot be foolish enough to entrust our lives and the lives of others to a banner. I fear that I overstepped, and in my confidence and pride, destroyed our beautiful city."

"Palmyra was one of the most accepting nations in the world," Samuel told Castiel. "All faiths were accepted there, Christians like myself included."

"And like myself," murmured Castiel. 

"Yes," said Zenobia. "During a time when Rome has made such admissions dangerous, Palmyra was open and free. I wanted to ensure it stayed that way, but it seems I had tipped the balance too far. I cannot apologize to every Palmyrene; despite appearances, I am imprisoned here. It is a sweet imprisonment, but I cannot go about at will, all the same."

"So you have invited two Palmyrenes to apologize, and to offer your head?" Castiel asked.

"Not just any Palmyrenes," she said. "The men I sent to spy for me. Word has reached me that love springs up in the strangest of places, but there has been a rift. I cannot save Palmyra. But I'd like to save you, if I can."

"I don't know what you mean."

"It's all right, Castiel," said a voice. "She knows everything. I told her."

Castiel looked up to see a young soldier standing in the shadow of a tree.

"Thomas!" he cried, standing up to embrace him. "Oh, Thomas, thank goodness you're alive!"

"I, and the rest of your men," said Thomas. "You trained us well."

"That is excellent news," said Castiel. "Now, what have you been telling the empress?"

"That the machinations of countries and patriotism has destroyed, or nearly so, a love like those of the old stories," said Thomas.

Now Castiel was embarrassed.

"I don't think that's entirely accurate."

"Thomas, sit. Eat," said Zenobia, and Thomas did as he was told.

"I am Zenobia's personal bodyguard now," he explained.

Zenobia smiled at him.

"And perhaps more."

"Thomas regaled me with the fascinating tale of the men I'd sent as spies," Zenobia said. "Passion, subterfuge, travel - what can I say? I am a fool for an adventure story. When I was a child, I loved hunting. I loved wrestling with the young men. I have always felt that perhaps my worst quality was that I enjoyed war too much. But the other side of that coin is love, a war of its very own making."

She looked pointedly at Dean and Castiel.

"Now," she said. "I may no longer be empress, but I will give you final orders. Dean, do not let your anger consume you. Let Castiel be your hearth-fire, the place where all stories and secrets can safely abide."

Then she placed a bejeweled hand over Castiel's.

"And although you are of the enemy camp," she said, "the enemy has treated me well, apart from Aurelian's mad desire to parade me around the city. But then, of course, I was able to show off these muscles. Look at them!"

She winked.

"But Castiel," she said, "if you will permit me to give you a word of advice. I have been the wife of a king. I have been a warrior. I have been an empress, if briefly. I am now, like you, retired in a Roman villa. Thomas is what makes this place a paradise for me, in a way that all the jewels and the money in the world cannot. If I am able to love a Roman, despite our history as enemies, then it is time to put past enmity behind us. Do not let your Roman pride keep you from his bedside, and do not let past mistakes of your own haunt you likewise. Get out of your own way. Understood?"

Castiel smiled slightly and nodded.

"You speak honeyed words," he said. "Like a poetess."

"I speak the truth," said Zenobia, "and to ears and minds accustomed to the lies of others, or from themselves, the truth is sweeter still. Thomas tells me that you fought for the men you loved, and they fought for you. Here is a chance for the both of you to learn what that means in the sense of storge and eros as well as philia."

"You are a wise woman," said Castiel. "Your words have moved me."

"Good," said Zenobia. She looked down the table at Samuel. "And to you, my scholar, I say that you will have a difficult road ahead of you with these two, but you are the link that binds them together. They will need a mediator. But you are your own man, and will find your path in life soon enough. Should you require it, I offer my own personal reference for your future career."

Samuel was amazed.

"I don't know what to say," he said. 

"Say thank you, and pass me the wine," said Zenobia. "Enough of this serious talk. Now tell me all about your adventures, and leave nothing out, unless prudence dictates."

She grinned widely.

"But keep in all the details, if you can," she said. "I've never been one for prudence, myself."

***

By the time they left Zenobia's villa, it was late at night. She and Thomas had kept them entertained for hours, with wine and food, musicians and performers. Castiel could see the look in Dean's eyes; he wished to dance, but didn't dare.

Zenobia kept casting glances at him, clearly hoping he would reveal this aspect of his personality, but even after all the sweet wine, he kept it to himself.

They walked home, a little unsteady on their feet, after Zenobia extracted a promise from them that they would return to visit from time to time.

"What an incredible woman!" Castiel exclaimed as they approached the villa.

"Yes, you have said so a few times," teased Samuel. "This is why we were so willing to go to war for her."

"Well, now I understand," said Castiel.

They all walked up the stairs and said their goodbyes, and Castiel stumbled a little as he entered his own room. He collapsed onto his bed and rolled over, looking up at the ceiling with a wide smile.

Momentarily, he noticed movement by the doorway. He sat up in bed.

"Dean?"

Dean, who had been haunting the darkness outside Castiel's balcony, took a hesitant step inside.

"I was thinking," he said, "about what Zenobia told us today."

Castiel swallowed.

"And?"

"And," said Dean, approaching Castiel, and then stopping in the middle of the room, unsure.

_I'm afraid._

Castiel was startled by this realization.

It hit clear and true, like being plunged beneath a waterfall.

Then, he realized that this may be the key in itself - 

not the feeling, but speaking it aloud.

"I'm afraid," Castiel admitted. "I'm so afraid, Dean."

Dean took another step forward, as this seemed to get him moving again.

"So'm I," he said, and he got onto his knees in front of Castiel. "Fucking terrified, Cas."

"Then let's be afraid together," said Castiel, leaning toward him.

Dean met him halfway, and kissed him.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean's kisses were sweeter than honey-wine - 

_how could I have forgotten?_ thought Castiel.

but no - 

it was not that he had forgotten, only that he was made anew with every kiss from his lover's lips.

"Dean," he sighed.

Dean crawled over Castiel on the bed.

He kissed him again, soft and slow and deep, teasing a moan out of him.

Castiel felt as though he were being pulled deep, his need sinking into him, dark and heavy. He returned Dean's passion, kiss for kiss, and Dean panted incantations against his lips, drowsy with wine.

"Yes," Castiel responded to a question he wasn't being asked, to every question, to any question. "Yes, Dean."

Dean reached behind his back and pulled off his shirt, an S-curve of concrete poetry. He sat astride Castiel, staring down at him, chest pulling breath after breath of the air between them, charged and ready.

Castiel stared back in turn, at this blessed creature who saw fit to share his bed, to share his life.

And he saw it -

that desperate, that aching look -

the one he had longed to soften, to metamorphose into surrender, to catch the shout-song of the pinnacle from his wine-sweet lips -

and for Castiel to know he had placed it there.

He drew Dean down into a kiss that deepened as he went, and sat up now to divest himself of his clothing, and the rest of Dean's besides.

They sat, for a moment, clinging to each other, skin on skin.

"Achilles, warrior-lover," Dean said softly, and brushed Castiel's cheek with his lips, but they may as well have been a firebrand given how Castiel reacted.

He threw Dean over on the bed, sparring-quick, and slotted his body into Dean's; between his legs, in his eyes, over his chest, feeling his heart beat in a birdfeather tattoo, soft and light and frightened against his ribcage.

"I am here," soothed Castiel. "I am here."

He whispered praise and protection along Dean's fevered skin as he reached for the oil warm by the light of the late-night lamp. His blunted fingers covered with it, Castiel then pressed inside and caught the quiet confession of the cry on Dean's lips with his own, smothered it, took it within himself and made it pure.

Slow, soft, quiet, he worked Dean open, steady and confident with one hand on his hip as Dean writhed and begged for him in languages unknown that all men yet know. It was done, it was done, it was done, but Castiel was fascinated, watching this particular acquiescence, and so he persisted, drawing new sounds from Dean now where he knew without looking that he was bleeding tears onto the pillow, beyond sense and beyond this reality.

Castiel's patience was a tinderbox, a bowstring stretched to its limit, a terrifying act of God that awaited the moment of ignition. He ached with want that radiated through his body, his cock a hard arch of need against his stomach. He would not allow himself to give in, to crash over his lover like a wave on the sand, until the tension had grown so great that everything snapped.

"Castiel," breathed Dean through his tears. "Please."

And, now, who was Castiel to deny him?

He stood, a triumphant figure, looking down at his conquest, beautiful and pale, flushed pink with his desire, that desperate expression calling to Castiel just as it had all those many months before, and now he could change it, he could make Dean scream his name.

And it was this, more than anything, that Castiel wanted.

To be known. For Dean to know that he had made him feel that way, and for Dean to name it, forevermore.

He crawled over Dean, and kissed away tears from his butterfly-lashes -

and slowly as he had worked him open, Castiel pushed inside.

Torture, torture, of the sweetest kind -

every inch of him, surrounded, and Castiel dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder with a moan.

"God, you're beautiful," Dean barely murmured, but Castiel caught it greedy from his lips. "Holy. Holy. Holy."

Castiel was fully seated inside him now.

And after such care and time taken, he did not make Dean wait.

Castiel set a leisurely pace, strong and sure, Dean's cock weeping between them. Dean wept and cursed and spoke nonsense words, all soft and quiet as if he were afraid that even Castiel might hear him. 

"Come for me," whispered Castiel sweetly.

"God, _Cas!_ " Dean's song of praise, his elation in sweet blasphemy, Castiel _named_ -

then a startled look as Dean came on command with a choked-off sob, a white flag of surrender.

"There," Castiel whispered at the sight of it.

____

Castiel, strong and dominant, cradled Dean's surrender in his arms, as Dean clutched his shoulders and gave himself over entirely to Castiel, his body lax and willing.

____

"I love you, Dean," said Castiel, and his entire body seized up as he suddenly spasmed helplessly inside Dean, spilling himself and all that he was, not just the physical, a gift of himself entire. 

____

Shaking, he came down from his high, breathless and overwhelmed, the intensity of the sensation dizzying and frightening -

____

to find Dean smiling there, with a secret smile he had never seen before, but was only for Castiel.

____

"I love you too, Castiel," he said, taking Castiel's strength and pillowing it softly on his shoulder, "And sometimes, you'll be the one in need of saving."

____

***

____

In the morning, Castiel woke slowly to sleepy kisses, and to Dean's secret smile, the hungry look in his bright green eyes -

____

and his hand between Castiel's legs, the oil dripping from his fingers.

____

Castiel gave him a questioning look.

____

"Turnabout is fair play?" asked Dean.

____

And he winked.

____


	18. Chapter 18

The weeks passed.

Villa Eden was restored to its original beauty, and then expanded upon.

Dean planted flowers and other growing things, spending his days tending to their care.

"A memory of our lost home. _Balm of Gilead,_ for healing, both spiritual and physical." he explained to Castiel one day while planting. "Because we will always need it."

Castiel smiled, and took his hand.

***

They found themselves visiting Zenobia more and more frequently.

Apollonius had finally convinced Castiel to allow him to sculpt Dean.

"It isn't me who needs convincing," Castiel said. "You'll have to get Dean's approval first."

"It may be easier if you are willing to do it too."

"Sculpted? Me?"

Apollonius just laughed.

"It's as if you have never seen a looking-glass," he said. "Would that I had your frame, Castiel, the looking-glass would be my best friend."

"All right, Narcissus," said Castiel, smiling. "I will, if Dean is willing."

"And Samuel?"

"Now that may take some argument."

***

In honor of his new subjects of study, Apollonius threw a party one day in late midsummer.

Samuel, for his part, had been walking home from the Academy when he saw the silhouette of a beautiful woman in the setting sun.

He had stopped to ensure this impression would last in his memory, for, as he later said, he had never seen a woman so beautiful.

Athena, his soon-to-be wife, remarked that he had not seen her face, but her silhouette.

"And if I was captivated by your form, how much more was I captivated by your face?" asked Samuel, kissing her hand. "Your strength and your wisdom likewise."

Athena was, like her namesake, strong and wise; a perfect woman for Samuel.

Dean threw bread at Samuel during the party, when they announced their intention to marry. Castiel rebuked him for childish antics, and he pouted for a while.

Then he explained that there was a reason he was annoyed by the announcement.

"Because I have an announcement of my own," he said.

And Dean - 

Dean, who was shy of emotions, Dean who could not bear to be seen as the open, loving, and sensitive young man Castiel knew him to be, at least in front of other people -

Dean, with mile-high walls that could hide Rome from the sun -

in front of everyone at Apollonius's party, got down onto his knees in front of Castiel, not as a lover does, but as a supplicant in prayer -

and head bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped, said:

"Castiel. Would you do me the honor of accepting my proposal of marriage?"

The place fell silent.

The music stilled.

Birds could be heard chirping in the trees. The wind moved across the grasses.

"Don't be a fool, Castiel," Zenobia called. "Say yes!"

Castiel's face hurt from smiling.

"When a wise empress speaks, we must listen," he said. 

He touched Dean's chin, making him look up at Castiel, those glorious green eyes wet with near-fallen tears, and a fear couched within them of rejection living side-by-side with hope.

"Dean," he said, and what stories were contained within that word for Castiel, who had taken it as a koan, as a symbol, as a shield. "Of course I will marry you."

The smile that broke across Dean's features was like the rising sun.

Zenobia laughed, loud and clear, ringing across the garden, and everyone else cheered. The music started up again, but Castiel did not hear it.

Dean was all the music he would ever need.

This would take work, Castiel was well aware - but all good things do.

Wrapped in Dean's arms, awash in Dean's promise, the world disappeared into the single point of their bodies pressed together, the flashpoint of their kiss.

Afterwards, Dean danced.


	19. Chapter 19

**_EPILOGUE_ **

In Rome, there are three statues.

Men so beautiful they still outclass most of the men in the modern era.

Perfectly formed, they seem almost living, breathing things, like their skin might warm from a touch.

Two of these, gazing at each other for eternity.

A symbol of undying love.

The third, with one hand on an open book and the other raised as if to instruct passersby, yet turned toward the lovers as if these three were united in life as they are now united in death undying, their striking beauty enough to slow down those who happen to look up at their faces while walking past.

Most statues are ignored, of course, in these busy modern times.

But if you know where to look -

in an almost-forgotten corner of the Eternal City -

you will find the statues of a Roman soldier and two Persian men.

They don't look remarkable from a distance -

but from close up -

oh, what stories they'd tell.

-END-


	20. Author's Note

Thank you all for reading this story, and for your wonderful comments! It's easy to keep writing when people are encouraging you. I am so thrilled that people have enjoyed this story!

I've been wanting to write a David and Bathsheba story about these two for some time. They certainly lend themselves to these types of stories, and I hope that they are entertaining for readers even with these characters removed entirely from their original settings.

Factual aspects of this story:

Zenobia was a real person, and her life story is fascinating. She managed to form the very short-lived Palmyrene Empire. Palmyra still exists, although not as it once did, and what was left of its original destruction still stands. The Baths of Diocletian would have existed during this time period; despite their name, Diocletian only expanded them, he did not build them.

Aurelian was the ruler at that time and he probably did put Zenobia on display in Rome. Afterwards, she lived out the rest of her life in a Roman villa.

Men have bellydanced for a very long time, although people aren't often aware of it. There are several male professional dancers today, dancing in styles from Egyptian to tribal. Check it out on youtube, as there are several performances available, to give you an idea of the type of dancing Dean was doing in this story. Dancing, and particularly bellydancing, is all about the combination of explosive movement with micro-control of the muscles - perfect for a natural fighter who has no use for his fighting skills in peacetime. The challenge of the dance would appeal to Dean, especially during a time period and in a region where it was normal and accepted behavior for men.

It is true that you need to prune grapevines to promote growth and a good harvest.

Balm of Gilead is a real plant, and referenced in the Bible a few different times. It was used as a cure for many ailments.

Thanks again for reading :)


End file.
